Synchronous
by Shahrezad1
Summary: The epilogue in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.      And now for one last bit of humor from our favorite couple, with the help of a very unlikely cupid…
1. Solitude

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "But no, those hooded eyes were focused on something else. Perhaps the thick lavender the mountain range was melting into, all the light both literally and figuratively at his back. Or it might have been the crumpled sheaf of paper hanging loosely from within his substantial fist."

**The first in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^=**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 1: Solitude

"_Synchronous Rotation: When an object always shows the same face to its orbiting object. See: _Earth _and_ Moon_."_

He was at it again.

The thought was the twentieth of its kind since the new tenant had moved in a month ago, filling the resonating space left behind by the last of its long line of residents. And with him came his noises.

Violet found that she didn't mind the cacophony resting just beyond her eastern wall. It was a blessed counterpoint to the silence she was accustomed to, her roommate working long hours in contrast to Vi's endless schooling, consequently leaving her on her own for copious amounts of time. So when she again heard the indicative dial tone of her neighbor on yet another speaker-phone call the girl couldn't help but pause and smile in her job of filling the dishwasher.

Eventually his low, textured tones reached a voicemail and she felt mildly grateful that he hadn't reached the person he'd aimed for. Those 'conversations' frequently ending in shouting matches, ringing irate and clear through the barrier dividing them, and including every sardonic and punishing intonation but none of his actual words.

It was always like that. A myriad of bumps and pounds and shouts without any specifics. And sometimes early mornings, as she went about brushing teeth and untangling her river of lank black hair, she could hear him get out of the shower or pull a dish from his own mirroring dishwasher.

It was disconcerting, but also soothing in its own right. The knowledge that even if it was through a screen of anonymity she was not alone.

With that thought in mind Violet left her apartment to take out the trash in the dying light of the evening. It was against this background of purples, reds, and oranges that she finally saw him, her unseen companion.

He was a bulky, brooding figure standing three flights above her grounded position. And for a blink the young student had the urge to disappear entirely under his scrutiny. But no, those hooded eyes were focused on something else. Perhaps the thick lavender the mountain range was melting into, all the light both literally and figuratively at his back. Or it might have been the crumpled sheaf of paper hanging loosely from within his substantial fist.

Whatever it was, she couldn't tell from her position so far beneath, grass crunching with the onset of frost.

~/~/~

Their next encounter happened two weeks later. The nights had turned colder and dimmer, the sun extinguishing itself early regardless of Daylight Savings Time. Despite this and, bearing in mind the increased time it took, Violet had started altering her path to include the sight of his balcony. In the hope, perhaps, that she might gain a greater understanding of the serious individual.

But that chance never came.

Sighing, Violet shut the door to her apartment with one hand even as she swung her backpack on to the yard-sale-reject of a sofa with the other. Immediately thereafter she groaned in weariness, remembering with an echoing peal the words her roommate had stated just that morning.

_"…and could you pick up the mail after you get home from school tonight? The mailman keeps sending it back if it sits there too long…"_

Shooting a longing glance at the bedroom door for a well-deserved nap, Violet ultimately sighed then pivoted mid-turn to again face the exit, locking the door behind her.

The complex's community mailbox really was a simple thing: a series of six large metal boxes propped up on short stands, their surface broken up into individual parts for each unit. Their box was along the back side, a slot that had been modified from what was previously a drop box, its surface lightly caked with dirt via a childish mud-ball.

Violet bent to fetch the mail, and when she straightened it was to the sound of a vaguely familiar voice.

"Bill. Bill. _Ad._ Bill."

He spoke low but clear in utter unconcern for being heard, irritation rising each time he didn't find what he was looking for. But it wasn't until the man's triumphant cry sounded that she placed the voice as being the man on the other side of the wall; the austere figure on the balcony.

The idea of sneaking a peak at her mysterious neighbor didn't last long, however as it was ruthlessly thwarted, his brooding presence stomping off into the dark and far from the halo created by halogen lights.

But she did catch an impression of red hair and horn-rimmed glasses. In addition to the slightly-daunting realization that her mysterious neighbor towered high above her much shorter frame.

~/~/~

Violet winced as she watched her friend, almost in slow motion, fall to the ground. He was currently wrestling with another of her competitive friends, much to her dismay, and shortly after the rest of the room had joined in, scary movie easily forgotten.

_Well, so much for that idea_, the glance Violet and her roommate shared seemed to say, before the latter moved to break the fight up.

Multiple death glares were shot through the room, threats dispensed, and the movie returned to, but the noise level only dimmed slightly. A worried thought for the apartments surrounding left her sending a silent apology in all directions, but the woman received no reply to her mental plea for forgiveness.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the credits rolled and the night ended, their friends dispersing one by one. Her roomie had long gone to sleep, and the young Super was left to clean up the night's skeletal remains. It was well past midnight when the knock sounded from the west, instead of the wall facing to the east. For a moment the girl froze, then shot a curious glance at the eastern side.

Insistent pounding coming from her door was her inaction's response, so tentatively the dark-haired hero reached for a stool in order to reach the too-tall peephole to be presented with solid shoulder, but not more, all glaringly echoed in monochromatic blacks and sickly fluorescent yellow. And then a profile came into view and time halted, but for only long enough for her heart to stutter then begin again.

Tentatively releasing the deadbolt, foot firmly put just on the other side of the wooden barrier in case if she needed to quickly escape, Violet slowly opened the door…

Blue eyes steamed red with anger and frustration directly at Violet's eye-level, pajama-wearing form (blue with rocket ships shooting cheerily across the expanse of cloth sky) wrapped in a ratty trench-coat and slippers even as clumps of red-auburn hair shot up in untidy spikes, as though he had just run his fingers through it, before beginning the process again and again.

The man didn't give her a chance to greet or ask any questions, merely jumping into an immediate tirade as his frustration was let loose and given form.

"Look. I've been patient for a _month_. I know you're just…just…_having fun, _I guess you could say," his expression twisted as though the words were torn from his lips, but the opposite tenant continued despite the effort, "but, for heaven's sakes, can't you just go to bed like a normal person and freaking shut up already! I mean, _come on!_ It's almost ONE AM! I've got a…a…a _job_ _proposal_ in the morning, and I'm sure that you have something else you're gonna be doing once you end your vampiric lifestyle. So can you just. Go. To bed? Please. That's _all_ I ask. No noise, no music, no laughter. Just silence. Do you think you can handle that, _sweetheart?_"

Silence really was his only answer as Violet could only stare. It was her neighbor, yes, that much was evident from his words and appearance. But there was something more to the man that caught her attention and held it like a bird in a room full of cats. Something about the way his glasses cast a shadow along freckled cheeks and electric-blue eyes, along with the furrow of his angered brows, arms naturally rising to rest against the doorframe.

He didn't know who _she_ was.

But she knew him.

He wasn't just her neighbor, the man of the knocks and noises. He wasn't just an angry figure looking off into the night, or a man anxiously awaiting some sort of response (a response she couldn't help but be morbidly curious about).

He was…

"Syndrome."

The word left her lips faster than thought could silence it. Meanwhile the responding transformation was automatic as shock and anxiety took the place of anger upon the scientist's face. _How did she know_, his emotions seemed to say for the world to see. But that switched to a, '_Doesn't really matter. She knows too much anyway,'_ smirk turning dark and ruthless.

But before he could act she was hitting him over the head with a nearby lamp. And with a suddenly unconscious villain felled flat upon her doormat, all Violet could think of was:

_Crap. Now what am I gonna do?_

~/~/~

AN:

Happy Synlet month!

To explain: PegasusCrystal/Daniisreallywierd and I got to talking about how there should be a Synlet month, the same way there are shipping weeks for Avatar and others. Recently she reminded me of this fact, and I've been trying to find a way to celebrate it since then.

So I created a challenge for myself in order to get the inspiration flowing by creating a series of one-shots.

I'm going to try to get at least eleven done for the month of November (since Nov is month 11), but possibly upwards on thirty (the days in the month) if time will allow, choosing whichever themes I want (music, or themes of literature, or based on life experiences). I'll probably only get eleven done, really, but it won't be for lack of trying. The next one will be up soon, and is also based on real experience.

Now, for the fic: This is an art imitates life situation. I'm familiar with all my neighbors except for the ones that have the exact mirror image of an apartment to us, on the east wall. I am insatiably curious, so every time I hear them getting ready for the day or doing tasks it makes me wonder if it's a woman or a man, old or young, married or single, etcetera. I just filled in the rest as I felt inspired. Also, the apartment described is most definitely mine. The peephole is too high for me to reach, our mailbox keeps getting dirty 'cause kids keep hitting it with mud (why ours I don't know), my roommate works a lot, and we have a movie night every week. The rest is history.


	2. Green

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "With dread rising to the surface like driftwood from a wreck at sea, Violet Parr, alias Invisigirl, turned to her first and most feared enemy with a smile that was calm if a little frozen. And then she began the dance. "Hello there, Sir! Did you find everything okay today?""

**The second in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^=**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 2: Green

"_**Green**__; Synonyms: emerald, jade, olive; immature or inexperienced."_

'Green Friday' dawned bright and early-too early-amid blinking, flashing lights and raucous sounds, the cacophony permeating the store from the 'Front End' to the 'Back of House.' Normally tidy shelves were askew, and the piles of carefully stacked sale items had been decimated by the frantic fervor created.

Violet shouldn't have been surprised by it all, yet there she was, on her third season running, and somehow it still had the ability to faze her.

Villains she could handle. Natural disasters were a walk in the park. But put her face to face with an elderly grandmother that was two seconds too late to snatch up the latest and greatest edition of _Tickle Me Elmo_ and she was left with the urge to crawl beneath her covers and cry for her mother.

Especially when she was already familiar with the 'citizen' via her other job.

Which led to the thought that had been circling her mind all day: what kind of hero was she if she had the urge to hit the very people she was supposed to protect?

Thankfully it was almost over, though. The building was down to its barest picked-over skeleton, like a felled elephant eaten then left to the carrion birds. But the sun had finally risen, and the red-outfitted associates were brightening in response to the new day, hopefully filled with respite and even some Thanksgiving leftovers as their shifts came to an end.

Violet only had an hour remaining. A single blessed hour, during which time she would be given access to only one 'Guest' at a time. And she wasn't even expected to help put away 'Re-shop,' either, thank heavens.

Truthfully, it wasn't that bad, the girl thought when comparing the day that had just passed to the two 'Green Friday's previous. The Guests were more friendly, organization had been higher than was usual, and it was an overall improvement when it came to the atmosphere. Plus, she added as a mental postscript, because they had opened earlier she was allowed to leave earlier. Which was a pleasant thought in and of itself.

With that sense of optimism coloring her view, the dark-haired girl pasted on her best 'Friendly Cashier' smile and readied herself to speak two octaves higher than her usual alto. But the expression nearly died and had a heart attack along the way.

The next in her line was a family: father, mother, three small children playfully pretending to run their toy cars along the blue cart's topmost edge. But behind them was a face she knew immediately.

But never expected to see again, beyond her nightmares.

_He's dead. He's dead. It's just my imagination. It _can't_ be him. He's deaddeaddeaddead…_

The mantra couldn't alter the very real state of the redheaded man lounging to the left of her register, chemistry set in hand and frown permanently etched on his face. And for the moment she took solace in the presence of the unknowing family standing innocently as a shield before her.

_Hi! Did you find everything you were looking for today?_

_ That's great—especially with all the chaos going on. _A smile_._

_ Oh, before I forget, did you happen to have a Rewards card you'd like me to scan, for coupon points? No? Well, in case if you're interested, it's completely free…_

The phrases rolled off her tongue in a well-oiled loop of well-meaning add-ons and pseudo-friendly conversation, even as her heartbeat began pounding loudly in her obnoxiously-wide ears (the one bane of her existence, outside of the whole _'I'm a Superhero, therefore have no life,'_ thing). The desire to turn invisible was a strong and immediate defense mechanism, but self-control kept it at bay with the knowledge of just _where_ she was, and what she was doing.

Now was not the time. She had to keep her cool; to remain unchanging as she switched from one transaction to another.

And then she was handing the family's receipt over to them with the same feel of handing over her only lifejacket, now free to sink or swim as the fates would dictate. Still, the girl attempted to lengthen the transaction to the best of her abilities, wishing the married couple well for their holiday weekend, but a scheduled execution could only be held off for so long.

With dread rising to the surface like driftwood from a wreck at sea, Violet Parr, alias Invisigirl, turned to her first and most feared enemy with a smile that was calm if a little frozen. And then she began the dance.

"Hello there, Sir! Did you find everything okay today?" the inquiry came over polite and over-perky, like an automaton attempting to pass for a human being, and for a second he blinked in his plaid button-up and just gave her a curious look, one thick brow rising.

"Um. Yeah. Everything was okay."

"Good to hear. Ah! I see you managed to get one of the science sets--those went really fast this morning, so I'm surprised you found any left!"

Still slightly wierded out by the cashier's strange interest in his single-item purchase, his second answer was only a nod. And Violet attempted to remind her 'Cashier Persona' not to lay it on too thick. There was only so cheerful you could go before people realized that something was up.

And something was _definitely_ up.

"Okay, it looks like it dropped down to nine, ninety-nine. And it used to be _nineteen,_ ninety-nine, so that's not a bad drop at all! It doesn't look like it's going to run on batteries, but we _do_ happen to have some on sale in case if you needed some for any Remotes--ah, or anything."

_Ah, crap._

Her quick save wasn't quite quick enough as the two expressive brows created a raised ridge, then crashed low in a steady frown of thought. Violet still maintained the inquisitive, slightly neutral smile like a horror-flick clown caked in garish makeup. It was both pleasant and somehow extremely disturbing at the same time, but the Villain wasn't focused on that now.

"No. No, this is all for now. Actually, _wait_."

And just when she was about to expel a breath it turned to icicles again within her lungs, straightening her form till it was brittle and upright. She continued to smile, and he (she couldn't even dare to say his name within her own head) finally matched it with a mischievous one of his own, breaking ground across a feature she would normally have called a 'lantern-jaw of justice,' on anyone less evil, scattering innocent freckles like gazelles under pursuit on the Serengeti.

He wet his lips then leaned in closely to rest his hands on the faded green counter hardtop, so much that she could practically feel his breath mingle with hers; a horror she didn't know how to deal with, given the situation, so merely tucked it away for later deconstruction. And absently she noted that he had crossed one foot around the other so that it was propped up and tapping against the beaten tile floor, comfortable and suddenly in his element while completely shoving her out of hers.

"Yes?" it came out as a squeak, but she didn't let her 'Hero of the Year,' smile fade or change, absently tucking her hands in her pockets as she saw them fade then disappear. Control. _Control._

"The set. Does it come with a warrantee or anything? What's your return policy."

_Ah. Safe ground._

This time the smile came out a little more sincere, if somewhat tart in its design. And while her elocution was simple and forthright, it was also stronger than its forerunners from mere minutes before, "well, our return policy for most items is set at forty-five days, but _only_ if you have the receipt. If it's been open you can only exchange it for the exact same item, but if it's closed you can exchange it for another item. _However_," she continued, on a roll, and she could tell for a second that her sudden optimism had put him off, if the distance he'd placed between them and again-frowning expression were any indication, "on the off chance that something might happen outside of the forty-five days, it _does_ have the option of a Protection Plan. Which covers breaking, dropping, accidental damage, water damage, and any inherent _manufacturer's _damage. It's also set for fifteen months, or a year and three months in other words, which is great--especially if you know it's probably going to get broken! Did you want to add a Protection Plan to your set today? It's only a dollar ninety-nine."

Criminal minds apparently couldn't stand up to a well-prepared and well-informed retail associate, and any malevolent presence immediately dropped off in the sea of shock he was suddenly drowning in, "Ah…"

And then her smile took another wicked turn, arching up around the corner as she suddenly decided, among the chaos of the eight-hour shift she'd just dealt with, the mess, the painfully flashing lights and crying babes in arms, that the best defense was a good offense. After all, no one could accuse her of being too friendly or polite.

"We also have a promotion going on with our Credit Card right now, where if you apply and get approved you can save ten percent _all day_, at _any_ of our stores. In case if you had an eye on the bigger chemistry set over there," his freckled, pale complexion flushed with all the furious heat of a full-blown redhead, and at once she knew she had hit the spot. Still he shook his head.

"No. This is good. Can I scan my card now?"

"Yes!" she answered swiftly, and it was almost hysterical for a half second, till the emotion was cleared from her throat, "although I was wondering if you had a Rewards card that you would like me to scan today, so you can get points."

"No."

"Alright then. It's free if you're interested."

"No."

"And we are doing our donations right now for our Toy Drive. You can donate one, three, five, or ten--."

"Listen, Sweetheart, I'm kind of in a hurry here. Can you just cut to the chase?" and suddenly without warning he was just another Guest, just another man on his hurried way out of a toy store on the day after Thanksgiving.

"Sure. Your total comes to ten-thirteen with tax. Would you like a gift receipt for this item?"

"No. Thank you," the pleasant response was added as an afterthought, and breaking character for just a moment she nearly stared into his electric blue eyes in shock, the set cool and intelligent and dynamic.

_Thank you._ What a foreign word to fall like gems from such wicked lips, shining and unexpected. It reminded her of fairy tale she'd heard once of two girls touched by a Fae's mixed blessing. The good had been gifted with gems and the wicked with slimy, green toads, both set to fall from their lips as they spoke.

She'd always thought that neither was a gift, especially as having sharp stones fall from one's mouth had always seemed just as bad as being plagued with amphibians. And this situation was just a case in point. Only instead the frogs seemed to be tripping from _her_ lips.

"Your…welcome. Sir. May I see your card and ID for a moment, Sir?"

"Sure," and then her slim digits were brushing against his, and she fought the urge to gasp. It was like touching a furnace, the internal temperature inside an unending stream of nuclear fusion and slow-moving magma. In contrast, her slim form tended to learn towards bad circulation, ending in the girl always being cold.

She ducked her head for a mild blush, using the situation as an excuse to check the two names and the photo identification.

_B. L. Pine_ Somehow he'd managed to pass by the requirement of having a full name spelled out on flimsy laminated card, but the ID hadn't faired so well, showing his first name for all the world to see.

_Beethoven._

She stared. Then blinked. Then said nothing upon handing the offending pieces back. And suddenly the transaction was at its end. Handing the receipt to his sudden quiet form, Violet mildly circled the survey at the top of her receipt before handing him the slip of paper, careful this time to avoid his touch without openly avoiding it.

"Have a pleasant evening."

He seemed to accept her sudden reticent nature as his due, and merely nodded in goodbye before snatching up his single bag. And Violet found herself breathing again.

Dealing with Villains she could handle. It was dealing with _Guests_ that was harder. But, well, once you were accustomed to the one it really wasn't so difficult moving on to the other.

The thought was triumphant and more than a little relieved as she watched him walk away. But when all was safe was truly when everything was the most dangerous, the criminal's form pausing, then casually leaning against the furthest register from her position.

And then he smiled. High cheekbones arching, freckles burning across too-pale skin as a gap-toothed grin was matched by a smiling scowl so deep he created his own mask as a frame to suddenly, violently blue eyes.

"Enjoy your holiday. Oh, and give my regards to _your Father_. _Violet_."

He motioned pointedly towards her very obvious nametag, and then was gone. But not forgotten; no never forgotten. She wasn't a green Super anymore, that was certain, but a part of her suddenly knew that she was playing a whole different ballgame now.

~/~/~

AN:

Art imitates life again. This one actually sort of happened--a man who had done something horrible to a family in my ward (local church congregation) came through my line and all I could do was smile and move him through as fast as possible. I recognized him immediately, but he didn't recognize me till the end, at which point he avoided me like the plague. XD So, yeah, it didn't end the Synletty way this ends, but you get the general idea.

This was really awesome to write, by the way. I only had the beginning written, but suddenly it all flowed out of me like a daycare hyped up on pixie stix. And I've gotta say, for an unbetaed first draft, I'm pretty darn happy with this. Especially the parts that are my work-related. Yes, by the way, I do work at a Toy Store. Customers are 'Guests,' and I actually like it that way, so much so that it bothers me when the newbies call people 'Customers.' Green Friday is the name we call Black Friday (which, again, I like better, since it tends to have an optimistic outlook). Also, I'm known for handling everything with a smile, regardless of my shy personality, so that's what I gave Violet in this situation: a smile.

Because, really, the best way to deal with any situation is to remain in control and, above all else, remain polite. No one can fault you for it.


	3. Symptom

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "All the while thoughts were rushing through her head, like, _'what was that?' 'I can't believe I just said that!' and 'please let me not be crazy. Oh please, oh please, oh please.' _"

**The third in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^=**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 3: Symptom

"_Well, if you've got the poison, I've got the remedy."_

_-The Remedy, Jason Mraz_

The table was a rough companion to Violet's eyes as she stared down in boredom and slight ill-humor, its grain twisting and turning to fill creativity's needs as she sat trapped at dinner. The meal on her plate was steaming hot, the night was calm and star-filled, and her family surrounding her throughout in safety and health. But that there stood the problem.

Her family. As a younger girl her parents had attempted to stifle and hide any and all of their bickering, giving their children an almost-true presentation of a couple united. But what wasn't immediately obvious as a kid was something easily seen as an eighteen-year old girl, in her first semester of college.

_Mom was mad at Dad for fighting without her._ It was as simple as that—they'd fought a villain just a week previous, but when that Villain had escaped her father had hied off with no notice to their mother, before or after the incident. Only for Mrs. Parr to find out several days later through _Honey_, Frozone having also participated in the fight. It was a tenuous situation her father was in, and Violet wouldn't be surprised to find him sleeping on a cot in his new 'Den' for the next few nights, but it made dinnertime…difficult. Especially when she was trying to study for a Physics midterm, the book sitting placidly next to her plate.

Every now and again their voices would escalate for a moment before falling once more in a parody of civility, but it was uneasy as best and she had a feeling that her father had finally realized just how much trouble he was in, if his subdued words were anything to go by. Still, the anger made her edgy, plus she already had a headache, and for some reason the more heated their words were the harder time she was having when it came to focusing--.

_[Talk about pathetic.]_

What?

The single sentence brought her stupor to an abrupt halt, book forgotten and food suddenly bland on her tongue. When only silence answered her (with exception of her parents and the absentminded comments her brothers were sharing, words and pieces of broccoli bouncing back and forth without a care for the mess), Violet breathed one deep breath and turned her head to her book.

Only to see a disorganized track of numbers written along the border and between the paragraphs, scratched out in ink dark crimson. Her gasp caught her father's attention minutely, but only long enough for her mother to become irked over him not listening to her, and when Vi eventually looked back down the writing was gone.

All except for a slight smear of color on the paper's edge.

The girl peered at the smear as though it was the key to everlasting peace, but it afforded no answers. And so with only a slightly closed expression did she pick up her fork again and--.

_(Where are we? What's going on?)_

The fork clattered to her plate, and immediately Dash shot her a wierded-out look, deliberately shifting his chair to the side in that way that all little brothers have, even fourteen-year old brothers. Five-year old Jack continued his exploration of the broccoli jungle sitting upon his plate without notice.

And then it began again.

_[Geeze, I just had to get stuck with _you_ of all people.]_

_(What's that supposed to mean?)_

You? Who was 'You?' And why was the ruder of the two picking on the apparently younger one. Despite herself, she couldn't help but dredge up some childhood memories of her and Dash together as the conversation continued on, none of the rest of the family apparently hearing the commentary going on.

_[Kid, if you didn't get it, then you're dumber than you look.]_

_(You mean, _like you?_) _the childish voice answered in irritation. And Violet couldn't help but be irritated with him, but for different reasons.

What in the world was going on? One second she was eating dinner, tolerating her family, and doing her homework, and the next two guys were arguing in her head. A young kid, and one apparently that much older, emotionally. Talk about a petty bunch of immature little—

_[Hey, hey, hey, lady. You wouldn't be so hot herself if you'd been trapped in a box for freaking years. I mean, honestly, talk about trying to torture a guy. And then when I finally get released it just had to be a _chick_. I mean, _come on!_ Irony has GOT to be having a field day with this one.]_

Utter silence. Violet couldn't act, couldn't think or speak. Had the voice just…responded to her? Then, when she thought she couldn't take the pregnant silence any longer…

_(We're in a _girl?!_)_ The horror in the boy's voice was the last straw.

"ALL RIGHT! THAT'S IT!"

And then there really was silence, as her parents and siblings alike stared at her standing form. And Violet realized that she had to say something quick, or explain to her entire family that she was hearing voices in her head. Not a pretty picture.

"Okay," the shielding girl began slowly, carefully pulling her face of all emotion as she searched for words, "Dad. Mom is mad at you because you left her behind. Not that you stayed out late doing it, or that she doesn't want you to save people or anything and do your job. She wants you to include her and make her feel appreciated. And to be honest about it, already."

The shocked expression on her father's face told her that he hadn't come to that conclusion at all, but was more than willing to accept the knowledge if it meant he wouldn't have to sleep in the dog house. Or the den, as the case may be. Violet fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration, and instead directed her next words at her mother as the older woman was steadily becoming furious. But this time at her daughter instead of her spouse.

"Mom. Dad knew you had a friend outing planned that day and didn't want you to have to cancel it. He thought that since he was an easy bad guy he could take him down on his own, without help. Also, he wanted to show you that he was just as good as he was in his prime, and protect you in a way at the same time. You love each other. It's a misunderstanding. So freaking kiss and make up, okay!" then, a second later, "but _not_ where we have to watch it."

Finally her mother's anger was stifled as she remember that she, in fact, _had_ participated in a 'girlfriends' outing that day. Meanwhile her father had absorbed what she had said and was willing and able to apologize. Dash still looked surprised, but his attention had immediately returned to the task of cleaning up his broccoli mess upon the realization that his mother would notice it now that she wasn't distracted.

Jack was still burying his face in the mountain of vegetables he'd created.

Invisigirl took a deep, controlled breath, "Now. I have a _headache_. I'm going to go lie down. Is that fine with everyone? _Good_."

And before they could respond she'd turned invisible and exited, a ball of invisible mass rushing from the room in desire for safety, emotionally or otherwise. All the while thoughts were rushing through her head, like, _'what was that?' 'I can't believe I just said that!' and 'please let me not be crazy. Oh please, oh please, oh please.'_

Thankfully nothing answered her request for sanity, and quicker than expected she was holed up in her safe haven, light lavender walls a counterpoint to the dark blue bedding that dominated her room, its fabric complete with sprinkled white flowers. It was on this duvet that she sat, breathing deeply in an effort to stave off hyperventilation. Something dark caught in the corner of her eye and without pause she turned, expecting to see a pile of laundry or a stuffed animal of some sort. Instead electric-blue eyes were reflected at her from her full length mirror, and Violet couldn't bite back a short scream, whirling around to face---nothing.

She was the only one in her room.

But then how…?

Approaching the mirror the same way a zoologist might approach a wild animal, the Superheroine moved slowly and carefully to the mirror's edge. It appeared normal enough, but still she decided to take a closer look, especially with it being a newcomer to her room.

Basically, after their family's first fight against evil and consequential first introduction to the world at large as a Superhero group their home had been destroyed. Flattened, exploded, and covered in a rain of dust, wood, and twisted metal. They had believed that nothing had survived the death of their former home, until a week ago (roughly the same time her father had fought the minor Villain on his own) when Rick Dicker himself had walked through their doors with a mismatch of items that had been discovered at the site of their old home, appearing almost four years after it had first perished. First there had been Helen's grandmother's dishes, then the film and bank statements her parents had placed in their fire-safe. And then there was the mirror.

It was something her mother couldn't remember having, but her father _swore_ had been found at a yard sale and placed in the garage. Still, it was something neither her parents nor her brothers had a care for, so the miscellaneous heirloom had gone to the only girl. A girl that didn't really feel the need for a floor-length mirror, but appreciated the backhanded gift anyway.

Now, however, she was starting to regret accepting it.

Running her hands down the finely carved grain of the glass's frame, Violet searched for something, anything that might be written or drawn to indicate, well, magic or something of the sort. Possibly a listening device built into the base, or an instrument to alter her brain waves.

It was this extreme attention to detail that made her miss the existence of someone else standing behind her, in her reflection's shadow, until the prickling of hairs on her neck abruptly froze her hand mid-sweep. Navy-blue eyes rising slowly to view the very wicked grin of a man she thought dead.

_[Why, hello there miss, I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Especially now that we inhabit the same mind.]_

Gaping at the mirror, her immediate reaction was to whirl around again, as she had before. But just like previously, she found that she was all alone in her room.

A chuckle immediately reverberated from at her back. From the direction of the _mirror._ [_Well, physically alone, anyway.]_

Hair that would have hit the face of anyone truly standing that close as she turned for her fourth time only flew through the reflected figure, and he smiled once before giving her an assessing up-and-down look, before smiling approvingly.

_[I take back what I said, though, about being stuck with a chick. Honestly, I don't find that I mind anymore. _Really_.]_ And then the trademark smirk of ill-intent from her childhood was back, but aimed nefariously at her in the mirror's edge. And then in the reflection he moved _closer_. Three steps closer from behind, until had managed to tuck one arm around her waist, the other wrapped loosely around her neck in a pseudo-romantic move that was also deadly serious in other ways.

But as real as his actions were, she couldn't feel the bands around her form _physically_. Only a brush of cold air. But cold air that was stronger in spirit than anything in the flesh, tying her down so that despite his non-existing presence, she still had no ability to break away.

Until a bundle of warm air came rushing in, forming into the embodiment of joyful boyhood, complete with cape and makeshift uniform. His first act was to kick her doppelganger attacker in the calf before scowling up furiously.

_(Let her go! Let her go, you…you Villain!)_

_[OW! Ooh, you're gonna get it now, you little pain in the--!]_

"Leave him alone!"

And immediately the fighting duo froze.

Just long enough for Violet to fight back her fear and horror, nearly shouting as she pointed shakily at the mirror, "y-you! You're _Syndrome!_ But then who are--?!"

The child grinned up at her gleefully, face freshly scrubbed and eyes alight with pleasure at the world, _(my name's Buddy! Buddy Pine. But you can call me Incrediboy!)_

~/~/~

AN:

I have definitely been watching too much Labyrinth. ^__^ And possibly I've been thinking too much about the ramifications of what happened in the last chapter of Masks, and if the same thing had happened a different way. Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

And yes, the Syndrome side is meant to be a jerkface. XD Just for contrast.

-Rubs hands together- Well, this one isn't one of my favorites, but it's been bouncing around in my brain the past little while. The next installment will be up as soon as I can type it, and the fifth one-shot is half-written on several tiny, cue-card sized notepapers. ^__^;; So I have to flesh that out, too, but it shouldn't take too long.

An fyi on this one, though, it was unedited and unbetaed. Forgive me. –bows head in shame-


	4. A Matter of Taste

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "…the kind of strength that automatically caught one's attention, earning respect, but was matched with an impression of fragility. He didn't know if it made him want to protect her, or _break_ her within his arms."

**The fourth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^=**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 4: A Matter of Taste

"_And he made her eat the pomegranate seed, knowing in his heart that if she did so she must return to him."_

_-Mythology, Edith Hamilton_

Syndrome scowled furiously at the paper stack sitting in front of him as though the mess he was in was entirely its fault. Which, to a certain extent, it was.

If it wasn't for the blasted report he'd written he would be home by now instead of trapped in the tiny cubicle rewriting the blasted thing on a computer older than he was, the ever-pressing darkness growing merrily in the corner of his peripheral.

_Chicken-scratch, ha!_ It just went to show how little people appreciated his work. But as one hour turned to two and the cubbies all around switched off their lights, till all that remained was him, a hunched being illuminated by the metallic green glow of archaic monitor, Buddy couldn't help but grudgingly conceded that maybe they were right.

Next time he would just have to type it up from the start, and avoid the whole situation, period.

Paperwork was one of the many reasons he despised the NSA. It was a bureaucrat's effort to keep the inspired and talented chained down like chattel, always on-guard for 'please,' and 'thank-you's, without the means to really express themselves without the 'okay-to-go'-brand stamped on their forehead. It was a complicated mess of red tape and wasted trees, the paper-trail large and long enough to create a stairway into heaven.

So what was a guy like him doing in a place like this? Paper-pushing until his fingers were bled by way of paper-cuts, the butt-end of jokes and constantly the odd man out due to his past? It was enough to make the Villain ashamed of himself, and yet the deal the court had afforded him had been surprisingly painless to accept.

Even if it felt like a betrayal of his morals, or lack thereof.

Stretching full-out within his doppelganger of a standard-issue computer chair, an exact replica of the type all the "Techies" were afforded, Syndrome continued to raise his arms high above his head until something popped, the sudden release of tightened muscle and jammed bone bringing about a groan of appreciation before he sat back again, attempting to charge his brain cells.

"I just don't know if I can handle dealing with so much…Ice Cream."

_What in the…?_

"Oh, _Vi._ Just give your situation a little time. They'll stop being a pain once they realize they're not it."

_What the heck?!_

Frowning, Syndrome silently edged his way out of the too-small hamster cage he'd been stashed in, far in the back and furthest from the overhead lamps. Sneaking closer and closer through the labyrinthine set of cubbies, he made it several rows over before finally spotting the lone duo of figures, spot-lit by a single overhead light and haloed by the NSA's overlarge logo behind them, plastered as it was on the blank, painted-white cement wall. It was there he stopped, a hanging potted plant barely hiding the tower of flames that was his hair as he stared at the two Sup--_two_ _of his coworkers_ chatting easily around the water cooler.

One of them was tall and blonde, her sharp features thrown into relief by the single strip of lighting weakly petering down, then transforming into a blade along her cheekbones' edge. She was somewhat attractive, in an angular sort of way that reminded him of new envelopes, ready to unleash a sea of cuts into the world as soon as they were released, but Syndrome found that he didn't like the claw-like bangs and short ponytail she sported, even if the black glasses weren't half bad.

The other girl was thin and lanky; the impossible, almost unhealthy thinness of someone always on the move, never taking the time to let things in. Her back was arched slightly as she presented her dilemma to her friend, and consequently had it directly aimed at him, her hair in a long tail as thin and ragged as her form was. A form carelessly draped in patched sweats and a casual T-shirt, as though she had just come from the gym, never-mind the fact that it was almost one o'clock.

Or maybe it wasn't so much the gym, as another kind of physical exertion.

Like a fight.

Before he could pursue that thought the second one continued.

"But what am I going to do about it _now_, Dixie? I mean, I kinda like Sherbet but it's oblivious, and Fudge Swirl keeps sending text messages about how much it misses me, when we haven't even spent time together outside of class!"

'Dixie,' frowned and shrugged, "it just goes in phases, I guess. It always did for me, so why not enjoy the situation while you can. I mean, having Ice Cream in your life can be a good thing."

"I know, but…" the unnaturally thin girl swept her hair to one side in its tail and began absently braiding it, for lack of anything better to do. When that task was finally finished she scrubbed her face free from exhaustion, then shoved bony, death-white hands into her pockets, "I'm not _used_ to it. I was the girl that got ignored all through high-school, remember? The sister flavor to every type of Ice Cream in existence, so why _now_? What's so different about me now that they're all suddenly paying attention?"

The older and taller of the two looked uncertain for a moment before forging uncertainly ahead, "who knows what makes _any_ of them stop and pay attention. But there's one thing I _do_ know, and that's that you're one of the sweetest, most level-headed girls I've known. Especially when it comes to _powered_ females. And…well, people _like_ you. You make them feel happy, even when _you_ feel sad, and you don't give in when it comes to standing up for what you believe in," an eloquent shrug filled in between the lines, explaining without words just how Dixie felt on the subject, "those can be attractive qualities, particularly in your line of work. You really don't give yourself enough credit."

Grudging acceptance was evident in her hunched form as well as masked self-doubt, "Yeah, but…but it had to be _Pineapple_, of all people? And that's not to mention Superman."

_Wait, wait…what?_ Buddy stared blankly at the two females in question, ignoring the NSA coat of arms that loomed predatorily from above. Ice-cream. _Ice-cream_. They weren't just talking about a frozen dairy desert. Which meant that…

"Well, Pineapple's…_nice_, that's for sure. And Superman…well…"

_Pineapple. Yellow and orange. 'Nice.'_ _LightningBug_, a Super with both the talent for flying and the ability to conduct electricity immediately came to mind. He was a talented and warm-hearted, if dim, Superhero, insistent in his affections and impatient in his need for attention. Syndrome could easily understand the frustration of anyone under the amorous scrutiny of the highly emotional hero.

Fudge Swirl was probably _The Leopard_, a Nigerian Super currently aiding the _United Coalition of European Supers_, and Sherbet made him think of Italian ice and strawberry blondes. One of which included himself, if you got down to the roots of it, meaning that the object of her affection had to be _The Hatter_, the man's previously carroty locks long-since turned snowy.

So who was the elusive _Superman_? Going by powered versus unpowered status alone, he had a lot to work with, unless the name had been chosen for a reason other than the obvious.

He was about to lean in further to listen to the gossiping friends when the second woman, the hero with an excess of 'Flavors' turned ever so slightly to stare into space, arms crossed and booted foot propped up against the wall. Recognizing the stiletto as a signature part of her costume, directly at odds with her current attire, he was distracted for a moment, until her face caught him off guard.

To his scientific mind the profile was made up of a series of features that on their own were unremarkable, even possibly plain. A nose too snubbed to be delicate, a mouth too thin to be generous or seductive. Wide, innocent eyes that bore a world's weight of dark circles, but were intelligent and the darkest shade of blue-violet he'd ever seen.

Placed together the mismatch seemed nothing more than an amalgamation of parts, but on second glance it settled like ripples on a pond, leaving him with an impression of winsome grace; the kind of strength that automatically caught one's attention, earning respect, but was matched with an impression of fragility.

He didn't know if it made him want to protect her, or _break_ her within his arms. Either way, as Super or Villain, he could suddenly understand 'Ice-Cream's increase of attention. Even if _she_ couldn't.

Overlong bangs swept across her forehead, half-hiding her face an instant before they were absently pushed away, and then he knew.

_It was the kid_. Having seen her only from a distance, and without a mask, she'd been unfamiliar at first but there was no mistaking it now that the pieces had fallen into place. Even while dressed in the baggiest clothing, hair an unkempt length of bound braid, Buddy knew without a doubt it was _her_.

_Invisigirl._

Which meant that his enemy's daughter was old enough to be pursued by paramours, a hit he didn't know how to take, like someone shouting in his ear, _'Guess, what? You're old! Deal with it.'_ But there was something more to his shock, and Buddy wasn't sure why it winded him so much. Yet counting back mentally with both fingers and an internal abacus, Syndrome realized that yes, it was possible. He was thirty, which made her roughly twenty years old, and more than enough of a prize for most Superheroes. Not that she seemed excited by the knowledge.

And he still didn't know who the elusive Superman was. Other than, maybe, the thought that it had been his favorite flavor back when he'd been young and naïve…

_No._

Frowning furiously, the scientist-turned-NSA lackey almost missed her next words as she continued to speak, "I…just don't know what to do with him. He's…"

"Dark? Brooding? Sarcastic?" Dixie filled in with a light smirk, arms crossing over her chest once before she bowed to fill a cup full of water from the water-cooler, "A _genius?_ And what's wrong with that, Vi?"

"He's _evil_, Dixie! A genius, yes, but every time I'm around him I, well…I don't know, my skin crawls or something. It's like I'm a bug under his gaze and I know his eyes are going to laser me down. I can never breathe or think right around him."

Her friend just blinked, ever so slowly, "wait, let me get this straight--your skin gets goose bumps, you feel like he can see straight through you, and you have a hard time breathing around him. And this is a bad thing, how exactly?"

Frustration whipped the Parr girl's braid around as she propped her hands on her hips, and Syndrome gave her points for avoiding whiplash. But it still couldn't distract him from what was happening, like an audience member forced to watch the heroine die upon the train tracks, or a vase breaking in slow motion but being helpless to catch it. There was something here, something important the Ex-Villain was missing.

"He tried to _kill_ my father! Tried to kill my _whole family_, even. You can't possibly--!"

The blonde threw her hands up in the air defensively. And the move somehow connected her image with a much younger one he had seen once-upon-a-time. That of Dixianne Dicker, now Dicker-Clark, daughter of NSA's top dog, herself. She was unpowered but strong, and currently worked as secretary to her father, mind power her weapon over physical ability.

So why was someone like her dealing with _Mr. Expendable's_ eldest brat?

"Look. All I'm saying is that Dean was the same way when I met him--an Ex-Thief with an agenda. And I hated him, too. But maybe you're protesting just a bit too much for--."

"He tried to kill me, Dixie. _Me_," the words were spoken slowly, succinctly. And for a moment the redhead wondered if he should feel insulted. After all, it wasn't like he'd been trying to get at the kid.

Just her father.

Besides, that was _years _ago. Six or more at _least_. If it was still bothering her it wasn't his problem; it wasn't like she _had_ died. And they'd somehow managed to 'kill' him off in the process, so didn't that make them even? Honestly, what was the chick's deal? It was like she was obsessed or someth--.

"Just think about it, okay Vi?"

The tiny, stick-thin excuse for a Super shook with the depth of her sigh, but eventually the girl framed by black hair nodded, "alright, Dix. I just…I don't know how to deal with it all. I don't even know how to deal with guys. _Ice-cream_. Whatever."

The woman she was asking for advice from could only shrug, "well. Just remember that no matter how powered or how talented, they're pretty much all the same--blind, confused, and just a little dumb. You just have to find one that's not _as_ dumb."

"Like _Dean?_" the woman known as _Invisigirl_ asked tartly, and Buddy couldn't bite back the grin that came in response to her tone.

"Like Dean," the blonde affirmed, then held up one finger, "okay, one sec. I have to go grab something from my desk."

"Kay," quiet dawned on the hallway. The girl, moderate in height but short in comparison to his own 6'3", leaned against the supporting wall like a scarecrow on its last leg, breathing deeply. Her face still looked slightly pinched, the heels of her hands pressed against closed eyes, but overall her frame had relaxed over the course of their conversation.

She held herself carefully, Buddy noticed with absent intent, but not defensively. And the hair he vaguely remembered falling perpetually into her eyes was tucked away, creating an entirely different effect.

She was pretty, if slim, and bore no resemblance to her father and little more to Elastigirl's former appearance. But there was the steel strength he'd identified earlier glinting out from underneath the glass exterior, driving him forward from his hiding place before sanity could stop him. It wasn't till he was directly looming above her that she even noticed his presence, though.

And then it was like his first ring of reactions at the NSA all over again, panic flashing immediately as her spine went from lounging to ramrod straight, hands lying flat against the cement of the wall.

Then the little Super did the unexpected.

She blushed. A full-out flush from neck to the tips of her ears, revealing the white line of scar tissue running down her jaw and widening her eyes until the rest of her features nearly drowned in them.

The kid opened her mouth to speak, but the only words that were vocalized were undecipherable and not existing in his vocabulary; a squeak of mousey proportions. With that as punctuation, Syndrome played a card he'd long since discarded but picked up with ease, planting flat palms to either side of her head: that of the wicked Villain.

Then, smirk having taken permanent residence, he muttered low and pointed, "So. _Superman_, huh?"

Her eyes grew wider, form straighter (if that was even possible), and pasted herself to the white-washed wall. Immediately the hands that had been pressed against her face just minutes before had curled into controlled claws, ready to create a shield that would leave him reeling. Before she had the chance to act, or he to think, his lips were soft on hers. No pressure, nor force, just a gentle brush.

Time slowed, then stopped just seconds before the clock tolled one.

It had been an impulse, the thought of _'she's gonna scream'_ recognizable in its truth. From there the Villain had acted without thinking, remembering past fights with Mirage and musing on his way of ending their disputations. Sure, he'd also wanted to scare her, or at least keep her from destroying the office, but…her hands had stilled in place, forgetting her effort at self defense, and the rest of her was, in fact, frozen. All except her lips, which were subtle and unresisting in a delicate press that lasted just a few short seconds, but somehow turned the world on its head in the process.

And then they were apart, her body slumped and lungs heaving as though she'd never before tasted oxygen. In one ear Buddy heard a noise and absently turned to his left, meeting the eyes of one NSA secretary, daughter to another man he hated (if not to the extent of Mr. Incredible). A smile and nod was all he gave the blonde, noting that she'd managed to knock over her cup in her shock, then turned and walked away, switching off his computer in passing.

Just before the elevator closed he heard ironic words echo from across the room, falling on ears that weren't meant to hear them. Just as he hadn't been meant to hear their conversation before.

"So you don't like Superman, huh? Tell me another one."

~/~/~

AN:

Such a nerdbomber. So. Dixie forced herself into creation, and as I was describing her I kept having the word 'sharp' pop up in my mind, so when I went back to type up what I had written, I had used the adjective about three times. And then all I could think about was Azula from Avatar. "_**Sharp**_ outfit Chan. Careful, you could puncture the hull of an Empire Class Fire Nation Battleship, leaving thousands to drown at sea...because it's so ___**sharp**_." XD XD XD If you've seen the episode where the bad guys are at the beach then you'll know what I'm talking about. –laughs-

Erm, to explain…if you're a girl and you've never had an 'ice cream' conversation, then you're missing out on an integral part of your life. Or at least, you haven't been watching copious amounts of _Hey Arnold_ or _Lois and Clark: Adventures of Superman._ Which means you have more of a life than me--congrats. ~__^ -wink-

None of Violet's paramours are based off of real life people (although one _is_ created after a fan-character of an existing Disney character. XD ), but instead they have been made as an exaggeration of certain traits my roommie and I have had to deal with over the past three years. And Dean was just a random name that popped into my head. Not sure if it was Iron Giant, Harry Potter, or my Uncle-inspired.

I've never experienced a water-cooler conversation, fyi, and this is most _definitely_ a tribute to both Crazed Fuzzle, for her _Daddy's Little Girl_ ending (what else could follow that up, but a Syndrome-Stuck-In-A-Cubicle scene. Hehe. The idea grabbed me with iron hooks), as well as all the Gundam Wing "At the Preveneter Headquarters _this_ happened…" fanfiction that I read as a fifteen-year old girl. Both tend to leave a bit of an impact, either way.


	5. Story Time

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "'…and Mom wouldn't kill you, Daddy." _That's what you think_, was the rebuttal that immediately reared its head, but the graying redhead didn't say that out loud."

**The fifth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^=**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 5: Story Time

"_Boys, you can break. _

_You find out how much they can take._

_Boys will be strong,_

_And boys soldier on._

_But boys would be gone without the warmth from  
A womans good, good heart."_

_-Daughters, John Mayer_

"What in the crap did you get in your hair, Kiddo?"

It was a tableau most of his 'old crowd' would have gawked at. He, Buddy Pine, former megalomaniac and Villain, sat brushing (or, more accurately, detangling) his daughter's hair. The strawberry blonde ponytail that had gleamed just that morning now hissed back at him from its labyrinthine rat's nest, hair-tie near-impossible to remove without cutting it out.

Still, despite the tick that was developing just above his eye, she responded cheerfully and clasped her hands in her unicorn-pattern gowned lap, "I was seeing if I could improve the skates on my shoes, so that they'd be _rocket-powered _skates! But I overestimated the thrust and they blew up in my face."

The man formerly known as Syndrome paused to smirk proudly at the back of her head.

Owing the genetic side of her technological abilities to her mother, it was through her _father's_ tutelage that she had found an understanding of them beyond pure instinct. Since those first few lessons on electricity and the elements of the periodic table, he could hardly count on both hands the number of items she'd taken apart and rebuilt 'Better,' with added modifications.

He was proud of her achievements, yes, but all he did in this instance was buss the top of her ratted tangles and say, "next time ask me for help--are you sure the shoes aren't salvageable? Your Mom is going to kill me if they aren't…"

"They're not," she replied simply, tone matter-of-fact as it always was when she destroyed something, "and Mom wouldn't kill you, Daddy."

_That's what you think_, was the rebuttal that immediately reared its head, but the graying redhead didn't say that out loud, "just make sure to ask for my help it you try anything like that again. Okay, Julia? Or at least…have your brother test it out first, or something."

"Okay, Daddy," she continued dutifully. And for some reason Buddy's mind caught on it.

_Daddy._ Out of all the titles he'd ever had, that was probably the one he loved the most and felt as though he deserved it the least. Well, that and the position of 'Husband,' but he had a love-hate relationship with that one. Still, somehow it felt like he didn't deserve the love he'd landed upon, not after…everything. Not that he would admit it.

But really, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth, either? It might not be his due, but he'd always been a selfish creature, so guilt only ever lasted a moment or two before he'd sufficiently squelched it. Taking what was given and more, with a smirk and a shrug.

Which explained his relationship with _her_, too.

"Alright, done."

"Thanks Daddy," the eight-year old, again with ruler-straight hair, pecked him on the cheek and climbed into bed. Which was the cue her six-year old brother had been waiting for.

Spiky, dark auburn hair peeked into the doorway with all the effect of a porcupine, followed by curiously bright blue eyes in contrast to his sister's amber-brown. Miniature pawed hands followed, gripping the edge, and tiny bare feet. A blue pajama set, littered with scattered teddy bears and sticks of TNT (his idea. Their mother didn't approve for some reason), dwarfed the small boy from neck to ankles before puddling at his feet.

It had the overall effect of disarming cuteness, a fact that the child exploited instinctively. He had yet to _completely_ understand the value of it, but his appearance mixed with his powers created a combination liable to get him out of scrapes for the rest of his life.

Johnny had learned at a very young age that he had a talent for turning into an inflammable liquid; melting practically before reforming at some distance from his first location. It was a benefit for the child in that it made him practically invulnerable to blasts and most forms of electricity, a boon to his research-minded older sister.

It also afforded him a quick escape route when it came to mischief-making, a truth which had bonded the two Pine males immediately. Truly, the only time the two of them weren't together was when the father was 'working,' helping the boy's sister, or involved in what Johnny liked to call "Mommy Time."

All of these observations and nods to responsibility passed in a blink of an eye as his son entered the room, plopping down at the base of Julia's bed with no respect for stuffed animals stacked in rows based on height. She frowned but ignored the infraction, turning expectantly to her father.

Ah. _Now_ it was show time.

"What are _you_ doing here, Johnny? You know you're supposed to be in bed," was the key word to begin their night. On cue the kid piped up.

"What do you mean? You told me--."

_Wrong cue._

"I _**said**_…what are you _doing here_, Johnny? You _know_ you're supposed to be in _bed_," a single red brow rising high above blandly droll features sparked something behind the youth's innocent features. He gaped, then smiled.

"Oh, _right_. I HAD A NIGHTMARE AND I CAN'T SLEEP! CAN YOU TELL ME A STORY, DAD?" The pitch was deliberately high, in case if invisible ears were listening, and Julia and Buddy both winced at its volume. But there was only so much you could expect from a six year old, so they let it go.

"I don't know…it _is_ a school night…"

"Oh, please Daddy!" Julia, the more cunning of the two, piped up convincingly if a little dramatically, her callused hands (he would have to remind her to start wearing gloves later) clasped together before her like the devoutest of nuns.

"Alright then," he caved immediately, and the three of them settled in like old pros, the girl surrounded by her pillows, his son by animals, and Buddy in the rocking chair he'd carved himself when first starting out with legitimate business practices.

Then he rubbed two hands together, both scarred by electrical damage and chemical burns (he _really_ needed to emphasize the importance of gloves to Julia), and began.

"Lets pick up where we left off. The King had just exiled his youngest Squire, a boy who--."

"Tried to warn him about the wizard!" the girl chirped.

To which Johnny added an addendum without pause, "the one that was going to curse the land!"

Sydrome laughed lowly and smirked, propping one hand on his leg, "you sound like you've heard the rest of this story before. Maybe I should…"

"No! No! We want to hear the rest!"

"Well, all right then. So there the King was, having exiled the poor boy for 'Treason.' The child left in anger and confusion, not understanding the dictates and whims of the man he had looked up to for so long. It seemed wrong to the Squire, as though good had become evil and evil become good, and it was in this stupor of thought that he--."

"What does 'stu-poured' mean?"

"'Stupor.' It means being stuck in thoughts that bother you or confuse you."

"Oh. Right."

"_As I was saying…!_" Buddy coughed indelicately, "He was in a stupor of thought…"

…_and as he wandered days became nights and nights became days. He lost focus of where he was and what he was doing, until by the time he came to he had no idea where he had ended up at. Except that the air was pitch black even though it was day, and when he tried to turn back his feet were stuck._

_Aimed at a door that he knew from his nightmares, and from an accidental wander into the woods weeks ago._

_It was the Wizard's lair, and he had summoned the boy there through magics older than time. The Squire fought against the siren's call, but every time he attempted to turn even his head away something would pull him back. And then suddenly he was sliding forward without warning, as though dragged by his shirt collar into the depths of the hallway that had suddenly opened to him._

_And then down, down into a pit._

_When the child awoke it was to the sound of drink being poured into a glass. Blinking eyes caked with unwelcome sleep, his arms seemed weighed down shackles of ice. A dim light silhouetted a be-robed figure, his entire ensemble black with pinstripes--_

"Pinstriped, Daddy?" somehow she conveyed her dubiousness at the detail with only a single sentence. It was a trait Julia had inherited from her Mom.

"Your story or mine?"

"Sorry."

_--black with pinstripes. His goatee was trimmed, his black hair streaked with pure silver, the consequence of his dark magics. At his feet sat a white cat with a collar round its neck, looking mysterious and full of mischief. But at this moment her expression was as blank as a piece of paper._

_She could only watch in sorrow as the Squire also came under the Wizard's curse, green eyes looking large and human._

"_Squire. I know you. You're the youth that ratted me out to the King…yet were ratted out yourself. How does it feel to know that your idol is a liar, a coward, and a fool. A fool who was warned by a Saint--you, boy--of the coming storm, only like Paris and the Trojan siege, ignored the one closest to him and in consequence received his due."_

Received his due._ The words reverberated through the youth's mind and for a moment all he could think of was horror and dismay. No! No, not his King! It couldn't be happening to him, nor his new Bride. A woman that had been kind to him time and time again in the weeks he'd come to know her…_

_Yet…the last words he'd received on his Lordship's hand, and the humiliation he'd found himself in, before the entirety of the counsel of Knights, stuck in his mind like molasses._

"_That's right, remember. '_Traitor_.' The term may be somewhat familiar to you. Seen perhaps in a negative light, I suppose. But I prefer to see it as an…opportunistic trait. You see, I am nothing if not a businessman," and then the Wizard smiled a wicked, evil smile that felt like a poisonous potion upon his skin, eyes dark and glittering. _

_The Squire shivered against its power, but a part of him couldn't help but be drawn toward the dark. Still, he stubbornly shook his head._

"_No! I'll never…"_

"_Never what? I haven't even made my proposition. What if I were to tell you that I could make you far greater than the King ever was? To elevate you to such heights that none could stop you--none could keep you from your path of glory?"_

_It was harder to say no this time, but still the boy shook his head, brow furrowed and strawberry blonde hair tangled, strands caked with blood and gore from a cut he'd managed to acquire._

"Like mine was today?"

"Um…sort of. Anyway…"

_It was this blood that kept him from seeing the cat furiously shake its head, trying to warn him of what he would become. But the Wizard took his silence as an answer and grinned a devilish grin._

"_That's what I thought…"_

_Words fell from the Wizard's lips like thunder in a language he neither knew nor would later remember, except to say that it was powerful…and evil. Then the pain started, beginning as a prickle and ending in a full grown attack. His body shook with the spasms that rocked his body, till he blacked out…and when he came to something was wrong._

_The Wizard was gone, but not the cat. She could not seem to face him as he cried the silent tears on a cat can cry, and said in a voice he couldn't hear but could somehow feel._

I tried to warn you. You should have run away.

From what?_ the Squire thought in the part of his brain that wasn't still in the lingering echoes of pain._

**This**.

_And then he realized that he hadn't spoken the words aloud, but had rather thought them, yet the feline had still responded. And it was somehow smaller than it had been before; the size of a mouse in his view. Which either meant that the cat had gotten smaller, or he had gotten bigger…_

_The weight on his shoulder blades and hips eventually answered his question, and impulsively he tried to look over his shoulder to examine the change in balance. But as he did so he found that he could view them dead-on, neck turning in a loop to face his back. A truth as horrifying as what he found there._

_Wings. A tail. And a row of blood-red spikes running down the entire length of his spine. The view, despite the damp and dark, came in vibrant Technicolor with eyes accustomed to darkness, colors he had never imagined to exist floating like halos above every object. Even the cat was glowing with color, her shadow morphing before his new eyes into that of a tall woman, head round and hair long._

_His was small within his mind's eye, and boy-shaped. But the figure it was attached to-_his_ figure-was nearly three times as wide._

_And with it came back the unbidden words of the evil Wizard, _"…what if I were to tell you that I could make you **far greater than the King ever was**? To **elevate you to such heights** that none could stop you--none could keep you from your path of glory?"

_And then he knew._

_He had become a Dragon, the most evil of all creatures. Hunted by Knight and by mob, ever alone and eternally pursued. He was cursed…and there was no way to be free of it._

"Well, that's all for tonight," Buddy ended cheerfully, leaning back from the crouch he'd taken on as he'd emphasized specific points. The two children blinked back their _own_ stupors, Johnny frowning thoughtfully even as Julia merely sat back to settle further into her blankets. She was used to the sort of cliffhangers he liked to use, but his boy still had a hard time with them sometimes.

"Tomorrow, then?" the intelligent strawberry blonde queried with a quiet smile. But the Ex-Villain merely shook his finger at his very mischief-making daughter, making no promises.

"Now that all depends on whether or not Mom gets called in for work. You know that, right?"

"Yes Daddy."

"And don't go causing problems for her, just so she'll stay away at nighttime. No explosions, no mysterious security breaches, and don't think you've got me fooled on that boy and his shrink ray--I _know_ where that came from."

The 'Yes Daddy,' sounded again, but somewhat grudgingly this time. And with a very final nod he escorted his youngest out of the room, turning his daughter's light off in the process. Her 'Goodnights' and 'I love you's were spoken like any normal girl, but it was to a distinctly different father after a distinctly different bedtime story. One where the traditional roles were turned on their heads and the Squire, of all people, became the hero. But Julianna didn't seem to notice the oddity of the situation. And so the lights went off on a room filled with shelves and glass cases of past mechanical experiments mixed with perfectly preserved porcelain dolls, walls a gentle lilac.

Johnathan was tucked into his bed with slightly more aplomb, nightlight turned on and under the bed checked for monsters. Then the closet as well. When Buddy finally flicked the light switch the room swelled with the unearthly radiance of electrically powered glow-in-the-dark stars, set to keep shining until the rhythm of his breathing settled into sleep. They pattered out a map of the solar system's closest sisters, and on one wall Syndrome had managed to replica the Eagle Nebula, a swirl of brilliant color in the daytime sun.

It was his magnum opus when it came to interior decorating, and he had made his wife swear that they wouldn't move any time soon, simply for its creation.

She'd shaken her head, her hair brushing against his shoulder, and had left the room.

His mirthful train of thought halted as a woman's low voice laughed with him, the voice of his wife whispering just below his ear as she slowly wrapped her arms around his form.

"You know, _Buddy_, if you keep this up they're going to eventually realize who the King is supposed to be," and he couldn't help shivering at the sound of his name, even the name he had hated for so long, on her lips. From the very first time it had slipped out, heated and mocking, he had known she was the only person he would ever allow to use it.

It had taken her a while to come to the same conclusion, but he was nothing if not a patient man when it came to implementing his plans.

And now…

Invisible limbs clasped themselves about his shoulders, long gloved hands running down the solid breadth of his chest before settling on the beat of his heart. The scientist's eyes closed automatically, other senses making up for the lack of sight as the weight of her hands on his ribs and the heat at his back gifted him with a mental image of what she looked like.

Which was more than he usually had.

Long dark hair pulled into a clip for 'work,' body encased in spandex and reinforced with a Kevlar substance, made to protect as well as aid in invisibility. Boots that followed the length of leg up to mid-thigh, serving as not only a fashion statement but extra protection from stray bullets.

He hadn't heard the door opening, which meant that she'd been watching for quite some time, possibly even to the beginning of his story. Watching him watch them, a bit of irony that still touched him somehow.

She had her ways of showing affection, and if stalking him (an inside joke if there ever was one) was her way to do it, then who was he to stop her? It just meant that she had wanted to watch him, which was more than he could do most times and occasions.

And if it also involved unseen sneak attacks then he was fine with that--it just afforded plenty of opportunities for retribution.

"Darlin', when they figure that out, you'll just end up telling them the real story. And it's not like their _dear old Grandpa_ has made a secret of the fact that I'm apparently a _bad man_. Besides, what do you care?"

She tugged on a long, spiked piece of his hair and Buddy couldn't help but yelp shortly, "I care because my shields shouldn't be used to protect everyone from his _and your_ idiocy over Thanksgiving dinner. Get it, _Buddy_?"

There it was again, but two could play the same game.

"What about you, _Violet?_ Do you promise not to stir up trouble, young lady?"

Even with his eyes closed and her figure still unseen the Ex-Villain could feel his wife, Violet Parr Pine, roll her eyes. She did everything with her whole body, and sarcasm was no different. Another tug on his hair was his first answer.

"Oh, shut up, Syndrome. Just because I'm a decade younger than you doesn't mean you're more mature. Now can we go to bed already. I _hurt_."

"Alright, alright. Brat."

"This brat is keeping you from being hauled off by the NSA, I'll have you know," was her muttered response, and turning around the words morphed into a mumble as Buddy swung his masked significant other up into his arms. Up the stairs they went, her breath warming his shirtfront and the aging ex-con's arms seemingly empty. But just at their bedroom door her long, slim hand stopped him with a half-hug, pressing her satin cheek to his peach fuzz-covered one.

"Just for the record, I wouldn't have killed you…even when we first met."

Which was one of the most romantic things he'd ever heard.

~/~/~

AN:

They have such a weird relationship. Seriously. XD

Written for Daniisreallywierd/PegasusCrystal…because she's awesome and deserves hugs. AND BECAUSE IT WAS HER BIRTHDAY! And for CrazedFuzzle, because she asked that I create something that wasn't a cliffhanger but actually involved a mid-relationship situation. I hope a marriage works for you. –smiles and winks-

The idea came a while ago in two parts: Buddy telling a story as an intro to an actual Synlet fairytale, and then Violet walking in at the end (after the story had been told) and informing him that he needed to stop portraying her father as the bad guy. Somehow this concept morphed into two separate stories--one about Violet and Syndrome married and how that came to be, and an actual fantasy translation of what happened in the Incredibles, from Buddy's POV. So I'm going to develop both of these a bit more in one-shots. –does an approving thumbs up-

And on a side note: This begs the question of whether she is invisible all the time, or just a majority? Or only around her Husband and when coming off a shift? We'll find out next time on…-dramatic pause-…Synchronous!


	6. DisOrder

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: _"I _know_ you. Who and _what_ are you? _Why_ are you important? Why do I see you in my mind," Syndrome shook her by the shoulders, almost violently as adrenaline made up for the lack of strength, "why?!"_

**The sixth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= A follow-up to chapter 3, "Symptom."**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 6: DisOrder

"_His eyes were the blue of forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly."_

_ -Peter Pan, by J.M. Barrie_

Her fingers still tingled from first contact, the flow of energy as the two beings--two _personalities_--had crossed from her to him. The result hadn't been immediate, but in several minutes time the glazed, watery blue eyes had blinked once, then twice. Moistening the staring orbs so that his gaze wasn't nearly as unfocused. Regardless, it would be some time before it could be called lively or intelligent. Or evil.

The thought made her shiver, in an 'I'm going to regret this,' fashion. But without realizing it her feet slid forward, rather than back. It was as though two sides of her were warring against themselves, but rather than the desire to fight or run for her life it was the urge to satisfy her curiosity that she was stuck dealing with. Instinct _knew _that she had just unleashed _The Beast_ and was driving her to run before he fully gained consciousness, but the part that had been entertained by the sparring, intelligent duo was itching to watch him, shake him, possibly even Snow-White-Kiss him awake, if only to find out which personality had come out on top.

Rooting for Buddy was easy, what with the kid's open naiveté and casual care for her wellbeing, in addition to his very real curiosity when it came to being a Super. But he was still a child, and somehow she knew that a child trapped in an adult's body was still nothing more than just that--a child.

But Syndrome was no better. He was the darkest emotions and most corrupt thinking, brought around and mixed by bitterness. He was all negativity and sardonic humor, taking glee in the pain of others, but also somehow sparking awake something else.

It had been this shadowed devil that had first shown any interest in her, beyond the boyish blushes of Tony in middle school and the clumsy affection Rudy had shown. He had responded to her affronted confrontation with honest interest; honest even in the fact that he was the epitome of corruption.

Violet honestly didn't know whether she did or didn't want this aspect of him to come out. Either way, it wouldn't turn out well. So why she stayed she had no idea. Especially as there really was no way to tell, except to watch. And then, perhaps, it would be too late.

One foot stretching forward like a lodestone pointing north, the other slid backwards on the off chance that there might be danger. Her hands still hovered just on the edge of the bed, and the door was cracked open, just as it had been when she'd snuck invisibly past the nurse's station. Having learned from previous visits and previous searches just who was in the last bed down the last hall, the man with no name and no visitors.

_He was slowly dying_, they had whispered pityingly, _of unknown causes_. His body had long since healed, hair even growing back at an alarming rate and in a furious red, but the light hadn't lit behind his eyes. Like a man without a soul.

Violet didn't know how they would react to his changed status but one thing was certain, and it was that he was no longer dying.

Syndrome slowly closed his eyes, allowing them to rest a moment as he explored his other senses. His torso stretched beneath the hospital-issued blanket, and she could distinctly hear the popping of vertebrae as they fell back into place after long-being out of joint. His toes pointed towards the ceiling as he pigeon-toed them, then curled them downward, fingers twitching and stretching in time with the movements.

Instead of the ragged breathing she'd walked in on it was as though someone had released a catch in his lungs, allowing air to enter and fill the barrel-like tanks. His chest heaved up and down like a slow-moving steam engine as it was just heating up, billows pumping as they slowly took in fuel and burned it down. It was at that point that he let his arms fall, slight atrophy barely making a dent in the sheer strength that rested within them. Delicate, precise fingers matched up with muscular forearms and shoulders. Strong enough to lift the tail end of a car, but careful enough to hardwire a computer from its basest bones.

It was then she decided that it was in her best interests to leave.

Vi didn't get the chance to follow through on the instinct as a hand clamped hard round her wrist. She almost didn't recognize it at first, just looking at the object in puzzlement, the thought, 'where did you come from?' slowing down her brain a second before it finally caught up with itself in super-speed. And then she was attempting to tear herself away.

The girl succeeded but only just barely as his strength gave out. Which seemed to puzzle the prone man more than anything, the same fist that had caught her raised to pinch the bridge of his nose. Until that, too tired him, and the arm quickly dropped.

Then Buddy Pine, no longer a dead man, spoke.

"Where am I?" he croaked out, throat caked with age and dust. Misuse had dropped it several creaky levels, till it was Syndrome at his darkest, but every crack that broke the tones spoke of Buddy. The redhead wet his lips but didn't repeat himself, waiting for her to speak. His eyes had yet to open again, and Violet made the connection that he might have thought she was a nurse or attendant rather than an intruder. Taking the assumed position up like a mantle, she slowly moved forward if only to pick up the glass of water and press it to his lips. He sipped but did nothing more, still waiting for her response.

"In a hospital."

It was the wrong thing to say, or more accurately the wrong voice to say it in. Youthful, strung by the slightest sliver of worry and fear. It was neither the military standoffishness of a prison nurse nor the muted concern of a matronly hospital worker and he responded to it with sudden stiffening.

Electric blue eyes shot open, torso arching a full ninety degrees in the bed till his face was level with Violet's own. But before he had the chance to snatch at her again she'd slid away, frozen in a semi-defensive crouch halfway to the door.

They were at a standstill, the Villain and the Heroine, but Violet doubted he was coherent enough to recognize it for what it was. And in the quiet he could only stare, small blue eyes pinched as, slack-jawed, he examined her. Head to toe, from the split-ends of her dark hair (and indication of her lack of concern for appearances) to the blunt, chewed tips of her fingernails. And then, front teeth slightly, childishly overlarge within his oblong face, he spoke.

"You. I _know_ you. _How_ do I know you."

"You _don't_," was the immediate block, voice raised defensively to match her hands. Body ready for a fight or flight response and bangs somehow instinctively falling in front of her face, and free of her hair-band, "Know me, I mean. I just…was _walking_ by, making sure everything was all right and all that. You know, Candystriper. That's all. _Really."_

Cringing more and more with his increased scrutiny, Violet fought the gaze of his very familiar face. But it was neither that of Buddy nor Syndrome. Instead it existed as a molded amalgamation of two beings, the childish innocence of Incrediboy still influencing his thoughts and actions, and the true evil he was capable of just beyond emotion's reach.

And he was picking up things too quickly. He hadn't noticed his surroundings, nor yet the machine he was hooked up to, but he could tell a lie when he saw it. Especially coming from such an unconvincing respondent.

"You sure about that? _Sweetheart?_" and now the eyes lidded with the wicked familiarity of his Jekyll side, brows raised even as his eyes capped at half-mast. Making his direct expression all the more laser-like as it targeted in on her and stopped her on the spot. Stopped her despite the fact that he was weak with exhaustion, and wearing a hospital gown to boot. And regardless of the fact that she technically had the upper hand, and could disappear both figuratively and literally at a moments notice.

It was the Villain aspect that had come out, or at least something like him. And she felt herself both mentally groaning as well as slightly short of breath as she primed herself for action.

In most cases, as she'd gleaned from their temporary imprisonment in her head, she'd learned that 'Syndrome' could be dealt with in one of three ways. The first involved catching him off guard and distracting him, the second, cowing him into silence. A last resort existed in the form of outright challenging that aspect of his personality, but so far to date…that'd never been completely successful.

The thoughts of her three optional actions flew like scattered birds through the young woman's brain. Of them all, the most likely option was to distract and catch him off guard. Being slightly ADD in both his child and adult forms made this slightly easy, given the setting.

"Yes," and the firmness of her own words surprised her as much as it did him, "I was asked to check in on the patient in room 118, and then let the nurse know what was wrong. Because you're supposed to be, you know, asleep."

Blankness, then, "_what?_"

"You had an accident," she explained with painful slowness, moving forward with the measured movements of one dealing with the mentally unstable, or very ill. This appeared to put him off for a moment, as he scowled childishly and sat back. Then flickered his eyes upward to glance at the ceiling.

A hospital ceiling, painted antiseptic white and covered in easily removable tiles. The pattern reminded him of confetti, if painfully bland confetti, and it seems as though it finally sunk in through that very no-nonsense ceiling just where he was at.

The muffled boom of the PA system calmly calling for assistance, along with the clatter of nurses, in a variety of scrub designs, walking past in their comfortable tennis shoes, ID tags jangling, stood as a counterpoint to the silence.

"An accident," he deadpanned.

"An accident."

"And you're a volunteer at the hospital?"

"Exactly," she breathed, then began backing away slowly, "now if you'll excuse me I think I'll just--."

"Then how is it that I know you?" and again those pointed eyes were on her. And Violet couldn't help but reflexively gasp, a reaction that flickered a weak imitation of a smile round his lips. He waited pseudo-patiently, brow twitching up as his irises twitched down, this time instead of examining her he was searching for something.

"I've helped here before, maybe you woke up once before and I didn't know it," the woman-child hesitated, "look, you should probably rest. I'll go get a nurse Mr. Pi…Sir."

"I don't _think_ so," the blanket tumbling from his waist to the tiled floor was her only warning as he thrust forward, arms clamping encircling Violet's form. His hands eventually settled on her waist, burning with an internal heat that brought to mind the mirror's touch, only icy no longer. They rested there a moment, spreading so that his fingers surrounded her torso from rib to hip, then immediately the patient turned her around by her shoulders as though he was torn as to what to do with her.

"I _know_ you. Who and _what_ are you? _Why_ are you important? Why do I see you in my mind," Syndrome shook her by the shoulders, almost violently as adrenaline made up for the lack of strength, "why?!"

The questions weren't ones she could answer, and helpless within his grip Violet could only stare up and up at his chin to his mouth and nose, but never those blazing, fire-blue eyes. And he seemed to sense that, releasing one hand to grip her chin and point her eyes to his.

"You _shouldn't_ be afraid of me. And you should be _taller_ than you are. But also…not. Who _are_ you?"

Mystified, he loosened his grip the tiniest amount and she slid like a selkie from his grasp. She was halfway to the exit when his next words stopped her in her tracks.

"You're a flower of some kind. Lilac? Lavender..?"

_No, no, no._

"Or maybe…_Violet_," a pause that was almost like an exhalation burst like a dam in the seclusion of the hospital room, and the young college student stilled as her hand settled on the knob to swing it fully open. Her eyes had closed as he finally said her name, then repeated it, tasting it on the tip of his tongue like an exotic fruit.

"Violet. You…saved me, didn't you? I remember and explosion now, then…falling. I fell on something hard, then there was a shattering and…it lasted _so_ long. It can't be possible, but I could have sworn that there were two of me! And you, you…"

A breath. Then a sigh. Vi let the knob go and merely stood with her back to her greatest enemy and closest companion(s?). Then dropped her head in a bobbing nod.

"Yes. There were two of you."

Utter silence. Unpunctuated by the noise of the nurse's station nor the cars stream just outside the window's barrier. Within the room there existed only two beings, with the latter almost making the connection and the former hoping against it.

"You should have died in that wreck, and instead your personality split and stored in a mirror. My mirror."

"Then you…I…what am I? I feel like…something is wrong beyond the accident. I should be something. What am I? Who am I?"

To tell the truth and have it backfire, or to tell a lie and have it backfire? Neither option was pleasing, nor helped her situation. But…even should he return to his evil ways, he did deserve _some_ measure of honestly. A portion of truth to attach himself to, to counterbalance the losses he'd been dealt with.

It was really all she could give him.

"Your name is Buddy Pine…and a man called Syndrome."

And suddenly his breath was in her hair once more and she knew that he had figured it out for himself, arms cuffing themselves around her entire being before he spoke in tones she had dreaded.

"Ooh, you really shouldn't have said that, _Violet_. You honestly shouldn't have said that."

~/~/~

AN:

"You sure about that? _Hogarth?_"

XD Okay, yeah, that was the scene running through my brain as she was responding to Syndrome. Just Hogarth's expression of, _"I'm really not lying, I'm telling the truth…sort of. Kinda. Okay, maybe not."_ The facial structure is the same, both Iron Giant and the Incredibles being the creations of Brad Bird, and both have villains with red hair, large chins, and wide foreheads. Anyone else see the coincidence?

Okay, maybe it's just me.

Anyway, a Candystriper is a term used to refer to a volunteer youth worker at a hospital, as far as I'm aware. Their uniforms are reminiscent of candy stripes, and I read a fanfic once about Angelica from Rugrats/All Grown Up acting as one. It was interesting. ^^


	7. Science and Steam

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "A robotic courier whirred past her with note in hand, his metallic top hat unaffected by the growing breeze, even as beggar children tried to pawn off cheap fob watches in the street. Neither noticed her passing, and Violet paid them no attention either. Instead she mentally checked her equipment."

**The seventh in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= Which has, you know, ended…but I still wanna finish this. ^^;**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 7: Science and Steam

"_The term denotes works set in an era or world where __steam power__ is still widely used—usually the 19th century, and often __Victorian era__England__—but with prominent elements of either __science fiction__ or __fantasy__, such as fictional technological inventions like those found in the works of __H. G. Wells__ and __Jules Verne__, or real technological developments like the computer occurring at an earlier date. Other examples of steampunk contain __alternate history__-style presentations of "the path not taken"…" __**–Wikipedia, Steampunk**_

The lab smelled like brimstone. It was the first impression that came to the young woman as the first came upon the seemingly innocuous warehouse, its outside plating dented as were all the other buildings in the district. Still, despite its innocent appearance a sense of anxiety pervaded the area.

Pedestrians, both rich and poor, avoided looking at the noisome edifice. And she'd seen those closed up in passing carriages literally pull the blind upon its image. Even the moonlight didn't dare glimmer upon the building, an almost-permanent cloud overshadowing its form. It was enough to make her think twice on her task, despite invisibility and the protective shield she had placed as a thin blanket upon her skin. Meanwhile, the warm wrap she'd put on over her blouse and corset could do nothing to battle the shivers running up and down her skin.

Still Violet Victoria Eleanor Parr strode onward, the clack of stilettoed heels muffled only through the effort of extreme self-control. Her hand clutched the edges of her draped shawl, other one wishing for a weapon of some sort to clutch as she drew closer and closer to the looming warehouse.

A robotic courier whirred past her with note in hand, his metallic top hat unaffected by the growing breeze, even as beggar children tried to pawn off cheap fob watches in the street. Neither noticed her passing, except perhaps to shiver a tad in the latter case, and Violet paid them no attention either. Instead she mentally checked her equipment, including the lock pick she'd borrowed off her younger brother and the goggles she would require should the room be filled with steam. Her own timepiece, an antique her mother had managed to smuggle past the overseer's eye, was unfortunately shut off to avoid detection. Otherwise she would have checked for her time allowance.

_He works until midnight, then sleeps until six. At which point his shop opens, dealing out horseshoes and mechanical gears with the equanimity of a common businessman. Then as the sun begins to set he'll shut down again, workshop clicking and whirring with mechanical mysteries before the process started anew._

Her best bet for timing was to catch him just as he nodded off to sleep; a hope that involved plenty of watching and waiting.

Slipping past the overcrowded--too crowded for her comfort--streets and into the alleyway, Vi worked her way through a steam vent and upward into unknown territory. Thankfully, the pipe wasn't in use and as she nimbly scrambled up the copper tube the powered girl thanked the Lord that in this, her first step, she wasn't about to die in the least. If he had been running an exhaust vacuum she would have perished on the spot from coal fumes, at the very least, not to mention the heat. Other than the door she'd spotted at the front there was no entrance, not even in the form of a skylight upon the building's roof, so it had been her first and only choice.

Which meant anticipation on his part when it came to any form of intrusion. But still, the girl-child was prepared. A shield deflected the heat wave which abruptly rode through the passage and her current invisibility dealt with curious robotic eyes. Bending backwards in an almost inhuman feat she grasped a thin blade out from underneath a slat in her high-heeled boots, just above the pointed stem itself. This was used to pry open the crusted latch that locked the metallic grating which separated her from her quarry.

And then she was in, navy-blue eyes wide and unseen but _seeing_ as she spied out the area, and the man from which it had all originated.

The warehouse was a complete edifice, ceiling rising higher and higher above her form the longer she looked. The building itself existed like a mammoth creature, its innards hanging from pullies and ropes like a tangled jungle of wire and flesh. Balconies and moveable terraces had been put into place around the room in a chaotic ballet of attendants, circling around some sort of hulking figure. Like the creationary babe in the lab's proverbial womb. But Violet's eyes seemed to not want to see what he was making, its presence lurking sinisterly at the edge of her vision until there was nowhere left to look but straight on. Straight into the maw of evil's darkest pits, its monstrous presence dominating her view.

And it truly was a monster. A steam-driven Frankenstein, clawed feet sprouting from an armor-plated, orb-like exterior and running to the rhythm of coal's destruction.

Sneaking through the grit and dust of the laboratory, Violet continued her now-frantic search. Her skirt, complete with ridiculous bustle she'd been unable to get rid of, tangled not once but twice as the girl crawled through the metallic undergrowth. All for a view of the man.

Some said he was tall, almost as tall as her father. Others that he was sneering and arrogant, a rebel with an unrighteous cause. His intelligence was legendary, as was his villainy, and all she had managed to unearth from her Papa, Robert Parr, was an expression of his furious anger, raging like the bellows they were forced to create. But she didn't care about that now; all she wanted was to _find_ the Scientist, never mind the descriptive factors.

Where was the creator? Where was he?

"Well, what do we have here?"

_Ah, blast._

This thought and more shot like quicksilver through the ingénue's thoughts as she suddenly found herself caught in a beam of…something. It was blue and tasted metallic in her mouth, like being caught in a lightning bolt that froze and burned at the same time. Amassed together, it led back to a device held by her target. And for the first time she was given a full view of him, rumors tucked aside.

But from the vision alone Violet Parr found herself astonished.

He was tall, yes, but stocky as a millworker, with unfashionably _red_, spiky hair. It had been much longer at one time, she could tell, but was now-singed with burn-marks and shorn shorter by steam and explosions. A pair of thick goggles magnified the size of his eyes, creating a kind of mask running from eyebrow to cheekbones but not completely hiding a selection of childish freckles, and what could have once-upon-a-time been a pristine blue striped button-up shirt, matching cravat long-gone, was tucked into an also-damaged leather vest. Complete with a pocket from which his watch chain peeked out of.

His loose slacks were encased in tighter leggings at the calf, as were his shirt sleeves, in order to keep them safe from catching in the fire. And gloves covered every other inch of pale skin left to be touched by the sun, with exception of his soot-covered face itself.

Altogether the Man, as she had come to think of him, had become _a man_. He was as real and as normal as any boy her age, and the dirt and grime he had accumulated was similar to her beau Anthony's appearance on any given day. He was, simply, not the threat she had thought of.

And he was currently gaping, slack-jawed, as much at her as she was at him.

"A _broad?_ Well, that's rich," the inventor chuckled lightly to himself, propping one hand piratically on his hip, "what's a chit like you doing in my workshop at this time of night?"

Still she didn't miss the assessing and objectively admiring glance he shot in her general direction. Which somehow made the situation worse, causing her to speak without thinking. To act without plan and without thought.

"I'm not _just_ a woman!" she shouted indignantly. And it didn't enter her mind until the words were out that this probably wasn't the best first impression she could have made. Not if she wanted to make an impact on the Scientist.

"A spy or a distraction then, I'm guessing."

"I'm not a spy, either!" she chose to ignore the second alternative, and the consequential blush which formed. He smirked like a schoolboy at her reaction, but remained undistracted from his mode of thought, one hand perched on his hip while the other remained holding the device.

"How do I know that?" Blunt, honest, and only vaguely curious, the Inventor spoke. He sounded like one accustomed to invasions and interruptions, especially by enemies, and with sudden recollection she remembered that her target's history of destruction, and thereby execution. Which meant that, in essence, he was either giving her chance to defend herself…or was playing with her. She hoped to high heavens it was the former, "Here I am, focused on my own machine-minded business, when I suddenly feel a breeze brushing against the back of my neck. And along comes you, a buzz of energy in a frilly skirt tripping your way through my conductors. Which were costly to acquire, I'll have you know."

She thought quickly.

"If I was a spy I would have taken what I wanted by now and would've been gone before you noted a change. If I was a distraction someone else would have tried to attack by now. And if I was a hired gun…you would be dead," then, as a grumbled afterthought, "and I wouldn't be stuck in these skirts."

The inventor gaped again at her words, but this time his thoughts somehow ended up in barking laugh. Then, eventually, he nodded in assent, "you've got a point, Darlin','" And the change came swifter than she could watch it. His pose relaxed, left arm dropping from its perch to rest on his belt loop, stance switching from on guard to a leg-cocked unposed state. The laser rifle remained on her, however, keeping her unmoving.

"So…if you're not exactly a spy, a distraction, or an assassin…that still doesn't explain what you're doing in my lab at a quarter past one, _Sweetheart_. We've figured out what you _aren't_, now it's high time you explained what you _are_…other than a highly effective conversationalist."

And there was the clincher. At this point the brilliant Scientist could either destroy her, release her, or make her his servant. The middle option was the least likely, but regardless the end result all depended on this one response. Emotionally preparing what to say, Violet took a large breath…then immediately expelled it as she realized he was watching her bodice expand, despite the modesty of her clothing.

And regardless of her invisibility. Curiosity tucked that observation away while irritation made a comeback, causing her to speak harshly, thoughtlessly, and it was with this lack of control that caused her to bark out, "Technomage. Superconductor, First Class."

The smug, self-satisfied look and the shaking finger let her know immediately that those were the wrong words to say.

_Double blast._

"Okay, Sweetheart, let's take a walk over to the cage while I figure out what to do with--."

"Wait!" _think fast, Violet Victoria Eleanor Parr, think very fast_, her mind demanded immediately, "you don't understand--I've come to you for your help! I wish to be your _assistant_, and in turn to perhaps help the resistance."

His sudden lack of emotion showed that he was tired of playing their little game, and consequently tired of her, period, "the last 'assistant' I had not only betrayed me, but blew up my lab. So I think not."

"I can be of use to you!"

"How?! As _eyecandy?_ Or perhaps you can aid me by eating my food and carefully sabotaging my work. Sorry, darlin', I don't need another skirt getting in my way."

"I know the secrets of the Technomages! And I can give you an unlimited power supply, beyond steam or coal," and there stood her worth, freezing him like stinging dry ice in the act of turning away. Cast in profile, his eyebrows jumped slightly as though asking himself whether the claim had any validity or was just an act of desperation. Truly it was a bit of both, but there was enough to her words that he eventually sighed and came back to face her unseen figure.

"Really? And what would that be, exactly?"

The dark-haired ingénue grimly smiled, "do you really think I'm going to reveal my secrets while frozen up to my neck?"

He growled, "you'll lose your neck soon enough if you don't talk."

_Oy vey._ She shot him an irritated look, suddenly not impressed with his immaturity. It was like dealing with Dashiel when he was in one of his childish moods, "then answer me this, how do you think the Superconductors subdue crime? It certainly isn't with laser rifles or gears. So what do Superconductors have that makes them so special? And if I _am_ one, and have that special ability, then what's to say I can't create a new type of energy?"

He wasn't impressed, "all right, that's it. Into the cage you go."

"I'm not a liar! The Fuehrer's magician is using all those with ability for ill! The government pretends that the Technomages are a governing police force, aimed at keeping the peace--."

"Or docility," he muttered, examining the oil staining his gloves lacklusterly. But his ears were perked and the inventor was clearly listening.

"--but they themselves are enslaved by the Magician's demands! And not only that, he is forcing us to take in the innocent and righteous--anyone who speaks out against him or the Fuehrer. He believes I can only make shields, but he doesn't know my other abilities or the practical application of--."

The hand not bearing the weapon was held up to stop her. And with his eyes magnified threefold within the goggle's circular perimeter, she realized just how striking they were. They were a brilliant, youthful blue the color of newly dyed fabric and polished turquoise. It caught her unawares, breath stuttering for a moment until she reminded herself of just what he was capable of.

Not noticing her distraction, he queried, "wait. W-who did you just say?"

The Wizard. Fury rolled into her being like a thunderstorm. Filled with anger, she spat out her response like it was bile, "the Wizard. The Fuehrer is just a puppet. His master is known only as--."

"X," he met her gaze again, this time neutrally. Then shut off the rifle without looking at it.

She had to fumble to catch herself as the forces of gravity once again pulled towards the Earth's center, but despite an effort at refinement she tumbled ungracefully to the ground. Unmoved, the inventor motioned over his shoulder for her to follow. The goggles were removed to perch upon his wide forehead, so that the only evidence of their transportation existed in the light circles round his eyes, a contrast against the soot. And within that dusty outline the entirety of surprisingly boyish features appeared, protected as they had been from the grit of billowing smoke.

"Alright, you're hired. Follow me…what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," was her abrupt answer, but she continued anyway, if not truthfully. He couldn't know who she was otherwise she'd end up being executed on the spot, "Lavender. I'm called Lavender."

The redhead grunted and motioned off to a sectioned-off area, sweeping aside the curtain to show a copper cast bathtub, steam rising above as it rested behind an oriental silk screen.

"Alright, _'Lavender._' Get cleaned up--you're tracking dust. Then change into something…useful. We've got work to do, and you've got to prove to me that you know your stuff, or I'm tossing you out on your derriere. Got it?"

"Yes Sir," she mumbled dutifully, heart sinking.

She was safe. For now. But it sure felt as though she was out of the driver's seat and into the steam engine.

~/~/~

Bartholomew Ricardo Pine sighed in frustration as the girl passed him by, her hair almost brushing his chin if not for his abrupt jerk away. In the act she left behind the wafting scent of some sort of flower, stronger than Lavender and mixed with a curious perfume of paraffin oil and singed leather. Which reminded him, the name Lavender didn't strike correctly. The roll of vowels wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't wholly a truth, and 'Buddy' found himself wondering if she knew what game she was playing at. Especially to lie dead in the face to a man who destroyed Technos for a living.

But apparently she knew enough, or she wouldn't have come to him. Knew about it the same way she'd known of his hatred for X. Or maybe that had been a stroke of luck--the maiden hadn't seemed to notice the reaction of pure, unadulterated rage he'd felt at the name, her own thoughts and hurt wrapped up in the wrongs X had committed on her person--whatever those were.

Either way, it ended up with him acquiring a new pest. Another mouth to feed as he made horse shoes and axles as a cover for his grander experiments and plots, the funds he'd garnered already stretched thin as they were. Optimistically, 'Buddy' knew she was thin beneath all the trappings women piled on. So she wouldn't take much fuel to keep her going, but that couldn't account for the chaos she was likely to create. Buddy anticipated at least one disaster, at the very least, brought about by the _lovely_ 'Lady Lavender.'

He grimaced dramatically, running a rough gloved hand through singed strands of hair. Parts were stuck to his face by sweat from the band round his forehead, while others had knotted into dirty spikes that he would have to tame later.

He couldn't call her 'Lavender,' that much was certain. It was as wrong as someone trying to call him by his given name, or something else as pathetic. So ignoring the splashes of the girl--a child, really--making a mess of his carefully prepared bathwater, Buddy decided on a nickname. To irk her if nothing else.

"You done yet, _Vin?_"

Silence greeted his words, but how was he to know it was because of its similarity to the truth? Crossing one leg over the other, Buddy leaned against the closest stand and quietly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache was building, coming like a storm as the mathematics of the situation broadsided his mind.

This would probably set him back two, maybe three weeks. And while he definitely had the advantage with his finalized Zero Point Force, refined as it was, it still ran on steam. When the fuel was all burned up the weapon was ineffective, and that wasn't even touching on the subject of energy inefficiency regarding his most recent 'project.' It was a brilliant idea, and with it perhaps he would have the added advantage he'd been seeking. But even it, too, resulted in a juxtaposition of design flaws and half-baked schemes.

But if what she said was true…maybe there was another way.

"Alright, done," twitching the sheet anxiously aside, the girl ran her hands nervously down the vest he'd had set aside for himself. And as she did so he found himself stilling. The corset that had previously acted as armor between them had apparently also constricted her form, which was now free for movement. The blouse was the same, only rolled up to the elbows, while she'd thankfully lost the bustle and endless layers of petticoats. Unfortunately, while she still wore an overskirt she'd somehow taken up a pair of his slacks which, even belted-down, ballooned mid-calf.

Revealing stocking-covered ankles, which tapering into delicately pointed feet. She'd lost the shoes somewhere, and he didn't know if it was a good change or a bad. Especially as he continued to stare, cheeks flushing red, his throat closing with difficulty as he stared at the slender pair.

This would be harder than he had thought.

~/~/~

AN:

This is kind of a flipside on what happens in Icarus. Only, you know, with everything Steampunk and stuff. –coughs- It was a request from two of my guy friends, ChaosModifier and KapitanLefty, who also managed to get me to draw several Steampunk Synlet pics as well.

Not sure if this is a good thing. But man, Syndrome looks good in goggles! =D

Working on my final project right now; I've got one week left. Didn't have to do any of the tests for Astronomy, 'cause of my good grades. I still have a few weeks left of retail work till we hit Christmas. (YAY! Almost done!) And my roomie, Bluecastle, gave me part of my Christmas present early: tickets to the opening night of _The Princess and the Frog_, which was delightful.

I am a VERY happy camper right now. =D


	8. Protective

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: Thin lips opened and closed in an effort to answer, but nothing spilled out between each close-mouthed press. Finally, the teenager spoke, "I don't see you like a brother. More like…a friend. Maybe more than that." Synlet.

**The eighth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= Which has, you know, ended…but I still wanna finish this. ^^;**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. No infringement is intended, this is created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 8: Protective

"Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero." --Marc Brown

Immediately he could tell something was wrong. Hand gripping the dented, dull metal knob leading to his 'official' headquarters, the long strands of hair at his neck rose with the passage of goosebumps. The creak and groan of ancient hinges was the only sound that broke the silence existing between him and the leering dark. And a part of Buddy quailed at the thought of entering, but the rest was made of stronger stuff, passing beyond his title - _B. Pine, P.I._ - with no sign of fear.

Tread by careful tread, his worn, scuffed shoes planted themselves firmly upon the varnished hardwood floor. Somewhere unseen a spider skittered away, but he paid it little notice--his senses were primed for other predators.

A quick visual sweep revealed nothing of interest or alarm, but also couldn't completely dispense the sense of unease itching at his senses. Nothing else existed in the bare room, with exception of his rough and tumble desk and a rusted metal tower that had the nerve to call itself a filing cabinet. Not even the miniscule barred window, blue light shining through to illuminate the entire empty expanse, was curtained.

But what the light did reveal was the scuff of dust disturbed along the edge of the wall, clear sneaker prints ran in a scattered daze, before settling in one spot. The odd occurrence was the stopping point itself, as the footsteps moved neither forward nor back in their dusty tread. And then he knew exactly why the room felt off.

Shoulders dropping as the weight of the world again rested upon them, in addition to a sudden dose of relief, Buddy allowed himself to collapse into his spring-filled chair. The death trap squealed dangerously but didn't break beneath the Private Investigator's weight, but it was in its death throes. He'd have to purchase a new one soon enough, but hopefully not until he'd had his next big break and a bit more cash in his pockets. At the moment, he had other responsibilities to worry about.

"Violet. You can come out now," staring forward into space, Buddy waited for a response. It always came slowly at first, as though she was warming up her voice to speak after long disuse, but once she came around it was usually with a cheeriness most didn't see. Then again, they hadn't really spoken in a while.

"How did you know I was here?" a voice whispered from the shadows, soft and melancholy, as though she'd been standing in the same spot for an extended length of time. The tail end of the question curled upward in curiosity, however, and the detective found himself hiding a smile.

"Deductive reasoning?"

"Fat chance. Probably booby-trapped the place," an shivering noise rather than a visual of it brought to mind an image of the girl wrapping her long arms around her torso, back hunched slightly against the near frigid temperatures within his office.

"Who knows?" was the older man's response, and shrugging he returned to the stack of papers that were waiting for him with a certain demanding presence. His mentor's daughter still hadn't returned to visibility but the worry behind it was gone now; the threat had been identified and revealed to be harmless. So if she wanted to remain ghostly, who was he to make a point of it? At least it made their conversations less awkward, particularly now that she was…older. _Different._

Coughing to divert _that_ particular train of thought, Pine continued with his next line of endless questioning, "what are you doing here, anyway? This is the rougher side of town--you know you shouldn't be here alone. And especially at this time of night."

A certain uneasy childishness hung around her unseen lips as he mentally imagined her ducking down further, if only to hide behind her curtain of hair, "yeah, I know. But…"

"There are no buts about it, Kid. I don't want to be on the receiving end of your Mom cursing me every direction. So next time you decide you want to lollygag near the redlight district, think again. Or at least wait till daylight, for heaven's sake."

"I had to see you again."

Bartholomew Pine swore something unmentionable in his mind, but for the sake of his hide (should the girl's father find out), bit back the expletive.

"Look, Vi, I--."

"I got an A in English, but I failed Algebra."

The redhead turned to stare through the veil of night at where she _should_ be, and like a marker bleeding on wet paper the adolescent finally came into view. Revealing a navy blue turtleneck sweater and baggy jeans, just as he'd expected, and long dark hair; darker than either her parents' hair colors, which swung before her bruised-looking eyes like the shroud of a woman in mourning. And then suddenly, like everything was normal, the girl was switching on the lamp hanging above him as he removed his jacket in order to roll up his sleeves.

Buddy turned to Violet with the expectant air of one long-accustomed to being both sounding board and therapist, and Vi in turn perched herself on the edge of her desk just as she always had. Well, from the very first moment she'd stopped seeing him as her father's sidekick and instead as a confidant and friend, anyway.

She'd been eight and he eighteen, but things were different now.

His eyebrow twitched upward, expression bland, "you failed Algebra."

Vi wouldn't meet his eyes, swinging her legs back and forth idly, "yep."

"_Why?_ I mean, it's not like its rocket science or anything," immediately after speaking he knew that those were the wrong words to say. And he didn't have to look at her to know that she was glaring at his profile.

"Maybe for _you!_" the teenager bit out, and Buddy mentally groaned again. Talk about opening a can of worms.

"Okay, I admit that was a poor choice of words--."

"No kidding, _Sherlock!_"

"--but it's not like you're trying to build a giant robot or anything. It's just math! You've always done okay before, so what's the problem?" the query was curious, a little indignant, and somewhat incredulous. And somehow under his scrutiny she deflated, even her swinging legs falling to sudden stillness in the haloed light.

"It was easier to understand…when _you_ were the one helping me."

And there it was, their dilemma. Buddy couldn't say more, so merely stared at the child as she glowed semi-translucently, her head going first before the rest of her limbs. Still, it wasn't a full disappearance and he took that as a good sign as he struggled for some sort of logical response to explain his absence without really telling her why…

She could _never_ find out the truth; he wouldn't allow it to happen.

Soulful, navy blue eyes tilted up to meet his own electric ones and beneath their gaze his resolve to say nothing weakened, as it always did when he was around her. She had had that effect on him since her birth, although the investigator doubted she understood completely her control. And she probably never would. It was the innocent beginnings of womanhood shining out from the edges of her disheartened smile, like Wendy's womanly kiss sitting just on the edge of her mouth in Peter Pan lore. But it had the weight of twenty elephants backing it, and even this close Buddy could feel it start to push down on him.

_Attraction versus responsibility. She's _jailbait_, Buddy, remember that._

The redhead swore mentally again, wanting to tear his hair free from its ponytail in pure frustration, "Vi, you know I've been busy trying to get my business off the ground the past year. I--."

"You haven't been over since my birthday. Why?" It was a command, pure and simple, one put into play with expertise by royals and generals alike. But in his case it came from the stern countenance of a fourteen-year old girl, frown scrunching up her face. It was equal parts girlish exasperation and hurt, but somehow still made her look vulnerable before his eyes.

"Look, I--."

"Why."

"I told you, I've been busy--!"

"You're face says you're lying, Buddy."

_Hoo boy._

"And don't use Dad as an excuse. Just 'cause you're not on good terms right now doesn't mean you're not allowed in the house," she rocked back and forth minutely, once more avoiding his gaze behind a shield of hair, "JackJack misses you. And Dash might be too 'tough' to say it, but he misses you too."

_Ah, nuts. How was he supposed to respond to that?_

"Look, Vi, I'm sorry I haven't come 'round lately, but I've been working on a big case--."

She stopped her rocking, this time becoming entirely unseen, but not before tucking her legs up under her chin on the desk's edge, "is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?"

The voice was hollow and listless, Buddy's heart alternately cracking and irate at the thought of anyone making her think that. But in this case _he_ was the one that had done it, and it was in this fervor of anguish and emotion that he spoke without thinking, wincing immediately after.

"No! You didn't do anything, Sweetheart!"

Violet's eyes abruptly became visible, hovering wide and startled several feet above his desk, and silently Buddy chanted a few unmentionable phrases at his word choice. Out of anything he could have said it just _had_ to be the nickname he reserved for his girlfriends-now Ex-Girlfriends, Mirage included. He'd begun thinking of Violet in those terms since her birthday, but he knew he _shouldn't_ feel that way. And what's more, he definitely shouldn't have blurted it out. Period.

"It's _never_ been your fault. _Ever_. I'm just…dealing with some things right now," which was clichéd to say, and he bit back a grimace as the words passed his lips, but they were nonetheless true.

She passed a glance at him which said she didn't believe it, but still let it go, shrugging, "fine, Buddy," and there it was again, the thorny barrier which had sprouted between them since her growth spurt. The twenty-four year old blew out a deep-felt sigh.

_Teenagers._

The thought led to action, "so, blatantly changing the subject…how've you been lately?" her scowl informed him that if he had been in contact he wouldn't have to ask such a question, but he continued anyway, "anything happen between you and that Tony guy?"

It came out stilted and gruff, but she responded calmly anyway, regardless of her current irritated state.

"I decided to give up on him."

"What? _Why?_" that was news to him. Swiveling around in his ancient chair, a move which nearly killed the ancient contraption, Pine stared at Violet, her body now fully visible. She merely blinked and examined her raw, chewed nails.

"How did that happen exactly? The last I heard you'd decided he was your 'one and only,'" in fact, it'd pissed him off even then.

Violet did her best impression of a squirming caterpillar, before straightening nonchalantly. To anyone else it would have seemed like a simple stretch, but Buddy knew better. Heck, he'd known her since she was _born_, "well…he wasn't."

Remaining deadpan except for a single bouncing brow, he muttered a flat, "really?" while waiting for a reaction.

"Yeah, _really._ I just…decided he wasn't the guy for me. We're not compatible. He doesn't laugh like y--other people."

"'Laugh?'" _Geeze, Louise,_ "There's more to relationships that laughter, you know. Like shared interests and the ability to work together. And isn't that what dating is about? So you can learn about each other's strengths and weaknesses. You can't just assume you're not compatible because of one tiny thing," the words slid off his tongue like vinegar and oil, leaving him wanting to grimace as soon as they'd been said. Which led back to the pressure his mind and heart were throwing at him. After all, what was he trying to do, rooting for the other team? Yeesh_._ It was like setting himself up for failure, "you've got to use the scientific method."

And there he went again.

Violet apparently agreed with his mind's argument as she gave him a look of patented disdain. It took him a second to realize she'd borrowed it from her mother, "you mean doing the same thing again and again while expecting a different end result? Wasn't that the definition of stupidity or something?"

"Optimism, actually," he tossed her a wry smile, "and no, I'm talking about keeping the same constant--you--with different trials."

The young superhero in training (heaven help her when she was fully grown) hopped from her perch to hover behind his chair, tucking her dainty chin upon one of his shoulders in order to better gaze down at his messy desk.

"Well, I 'trialed' him out and founding that there just wasn't a 'chemical reaction.'"

Ignoring her sarcasm, he grunted while attempting to ignore the feel of her hair catching on his five o'clock shadow, "what about that Wilbur guy, then? The one from the future?"

_Was he trying to shoot himself in the foot or what, honestly?_

"We found out that we were related," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Ouch. So you're…?"

"His grandma."

The detective shook his head musingly, "that's too bad. The two of you were pretty close, too."

"Yeah," and as she sighed she clasped her arms casually around his shoulders. It was a habit she'd taken on as a child, but Buddy still found himself freezing. He hoped she didn't notice.

"He actually was kinda freaked out for some reason, too," she continued by saying.

_'Freaked Out?'_ Buddy Pine's eyebrows became one solid line after jumping shortly in surprise.

"Really? Well, I guess that makes sense. I mean, the concept of ki--erm, thinking about your own grandmother in that way is probably enough to freak anyone out," laughing, he pretended to dodge a playful punch via his pseudo-sister. She let the fake ire drop quickly, though, as she continued to clasp his shoulders, head fully tucked in the crook of his neck.

"Actually…he asked about you for some reason."

That made the redhead jerk back in surprise. _Him? Why him?_ Speaking the thought out loud, it took several minutes before she responded, this time thoughtfully.

"I dunno. He changed the subject to his granddad freaking him out when he was a kid, so I'm not sure why he asked. Although I think he's seen you in family pictures, so that might be why he asked. And I _know_ that I've talked to him about you."

That put a stoplight to his train of thought, "you talk about me?"

Violet seemed almost offended that he had had to ask, "you thought I _didn't?_"

Rising like a sleepy bear to the challenge, Buddy turned his head so that he could look her in the eye. And then they were close, too close, but he had no recourse and so continued with his rebuttal, "that's not what I…!"it abruptly died mid-throat, "…nevermind."

Irritancy turned to inquisitiveness, "what were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Buddy. I'm not joking anymore. What were you going to say?"

A heavy sigh heaved his chest up and down, consequently shifting the slim female perched on his shoulder. He could tell at one point that, even while sitting, he had forced her into a position where she had to stretch to reach the floor. For some reason that knowledge sent an unadulterated shot of pure pride shooting through his system. But he ignored it, running his hand over his long ponytail before moving to rub the back of his neck.

"I was just…surprised. I mean, a popular kid like you talking about your stodgy older-brother figure to people. I'm actually surprised that you talk about me at all."

She became solemnly silent and, startled at her lack of comment, Buddy looked up. Violet's features had somehow become very, very still behind her long curtain of hair. And the one eye visible seemed to burn with some sort of emotion he couldn't quite identify. Thin lips opened and closed in an effort to answer, but nothing spilled out between each close-mouthed press.

Finally, the teenager spoke, "I don't see you like a brother."

And there it was again, the pain that tightened its grip round his heart. Just as he was about to turn away in defeat she continued, however.

"We're closer than that. And we don't argue all that much…except for when you do something thoughtless," a girlish giggle warmed the quiet as Violet thought about some specific instance he was unaware of. And somehow the burden pressing down on him lightened a bit, "more like…a friend. Maybe more than that."

_Maybe more than that._

Staring at her now-visible features, completely dumbfounded, Buddy for once in his life didn't know what to say; all his snappy remarks had been used up and the sarcasm vault had suddenly been run dry. And somehow she seemed to sense that, a sweet smile blossoming on her lips, navy eyes half-lidded. A hug later she was surrounding him within her embrace but still had yet to fully enter the circle of his arms, and the Detective found his hands clenching and unclenching in an effort to fight the urge to pull her in.

Then just as she drew back slightly something soft and feathery brushed along the sharp angle of his cheekbone. It took a few seconds for his mind to process it as a kiss, overwhelmed by both his revelation and her proximity. But by then the dark-haired girl was already leaning closer to whisper in his ear.

"Just four years until I turn eighteen, Buddy," and before he could register the sentence she'd disappeared.

The redhead stared out into the curiously empty space, not knowing where to look or where to focus his eyes now that she was invisible. One thought kept playing on repeat through his large cranium, a mantra starting over and over again until it was permanently etched into his brain.

_'Her dad's gonna kill me.'_

A tinkling, innocent laugh told him that he'd accidentally spoken the thought out loudk,, but he was in too much of a daze to care. Until she abruptly wrapped an unseen arm through his and whispered once again, "walk me home?"

"Um. Right. Sure."

~/~/~

AN:

I'M SORRY TYCHO-SAN and ONI! -bows low- I actually had this one-shot in-progress well before I knew Oni was writing a fic about a similar scenario. So I truly am sorry, but I couldn't really go back on it, so…yeah. Sorry. Forgive me? T__T I know your version is going to be better anyways, so at least there you haven't anything to worry about. ^^;

This is actually based off an image created a while back by CrispyGypsy, though. It's one in which Buddy has become a private eye, and Violet is giving him a hug to show how she understands. It's utterly sweet and was one of the first few Synlet pics I had ever seen, so this is kind of a tribute to that. You might also sense a bit of Dave Seville in it too, accidentally put in.

And yes, I am taking a small potshot at Viony and Willet. XD They had it coming. I couldn't help it, especially as I'm usually pretty apathetic about pairing wars.

Lastly, to anyone that thinks the age gap is creepy (especially in light of the fact that this version of them have grown up together), read the _Rowan_ and _Damia_ series by Anne McCaffrey. My favorite character is a man called Afra Lyon, who is about 25 years older than the woman he falls in love with and marries, named Damia. I tried to include that loneliness, wistful hope and the desire for love into this one-shot. I hope it worked out well.

And if not, then all Anime fans just remember that Kenshin is 28 to Kaoru's 18, and we're not even going to mention how much older Jareth is than Sarah in _The Labyrinth_. XD

Happy New Year! I really tried to get this out in time for the holiday, so I hope you enjoy something romantic to read as you stay up late tonight. BYE!


	9. No Fury

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: '"…do I have to answer that?" she said, and then he chuckled. It was a familiar laugh in the way fear was familiar, and evoked a sense of danger that was unexpected. Still, its jovial lightheartedness set her at ease for the moment.'

**The ninth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= Which has, you know, ended…but I still wanna finish this. ^^;**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. Lilo, Stitch, and others also belong to Disney. No infringement is intended, as this was created for sheer fun.

~/~/~

Chapter 9: No Fury

"Everything is a weapon." - 8BitBurst

_If she stayed any longer she would go insane._

It was this thought which drove Violet Parr as she stomped angrily in her extremely uncomfortable, spiked stiletto heels. They existed beneath the fluffy, frilly dress as a counterpoint to all the chaos, the intercrossing laces of her shoes as tightly wound as her emotions were. And as she made for the glowing green exit sign of all that is Great and Good, the girl furrowed her brows in a concentrated arch of Do-Not-Talk-To-Me.

Several cousins raised their hands in greeting but she did not see them, as focused as she was on the floor and the steel-toed points of her shoes. Consequently, she didn't end up seeing the roadblock before she slammed into it. Or more accurately, _him_.

An 'oof' signaled their impact, but only on her part as the brick wall remained immovable. Fingers immediately steadied her skittering form by clasping hold of her upper arms. But she barely registered the burn of warmth through a single layer to her skin, occupied as she was with the feet that were slipping across the waxed gymnasium floor. She in turn rested one hand flat upon the crisp, snowy fabric of his shirt, slipping past the suit lapel to the thinner cloth beneath.

The accidental interaction lasted less than a breath, and during that time she neither looked up from her stare at the floor nor discovered the identity of the man whom she'd bumped into before walking off. Missing the twitch of fingers before they compressed into a fist.

~/~/~

"I don't think I can handle this anymore," clenching and unclenching her hands in frustration and rising anxiety, the girl was seconds from tearing her own hair out, despite the feminine little bun her mother had twirled the now brown-black length into. Standing across the kitchen wrapped in an apron and perched on a stool, a small blue creature muttered soothing yet unintelligible noises. Still, the Super got the general gist of his response and tried her best to expel her mix of emotions in a heavy sigh. But it lingered.

"I…ah, Stitch, they're just _too_ _young_. I just see them there and a part of me _aches_, and a part of me is angry and _I don't know why_. And then I just get _angry_ for _being angry_," scrubbing hard enough along her cheeks that some of the foundation came off on her hands, Vi minutely thanked her mother for _not_ suggesting she wear mascara. It would have made her distress all the more obvious.

And the state she was in was obvious enough already.

One of his six fuzzy arms waved consolingly in her direction as he garbled out a comforting agreement half in English and half in jargon, the remaining five limbs continuing to toss a salad and mixing some sort of macaroni concoction simultaneously.

"I know, Stitch. I know," this time the sigh nearly shook her frame with its strength, leaving her all around exhausted after, "they're adults now and they need to make decisions on their own. For good or bad. But is it so horrible to want to protect my little brother?"

An ironic blue eyebrow lifted at the word, 'little,' and the Superhero had to chuckle as an image of her strapping, leanly-muscled brother came to mind. Perhaps it had been a poor choice of words, but it still expressed her feelings on the subjects. That irony was setting her up just when things were getting good; making it so that just when they had finally set aside their childish differences and were on a level of adult friendship and respect, life had to change.

He was moving away to Hawaii, which was the biggest problem. And she knew it was petty, but above all else she just couldn't handle him suddenly dropping off of their side of the planet. Sure, with his Superspeed he could definitely visit on the weekends and all that, but…then he would get his _own_ life; his own family and children. And an irrational fear--which she _knew_ was irrational without anyone pointing it out to her, thank you very much--was that she would end up falling off the face of the planet for him. She wasn't ready to give up her brother, not when the 'Kid' had just started trading insults for hugs, and screaming matches for long conversations over hot cocoa.

At the age of eighteen her brother had finally become her friend, and selfishly she didn't want to lose that friendship. With the worst part being that she _knew_ she was being selfish--he deserved happiness; as a friend she should have been supporting him in it! But…it was different with their parents, or their still-young nine-year old brother, Jackson.

She'd become close to her parents over the past few years, yes, and she now understood more about what drove her mother (and her previous identity of Elastigirl). Still, there was always that element of "all-knowing parent," which intruded. Especially as Violet had slipped past the ages of eighteen, then nineteen, and a hop, skip, and a jump over to twenty-two and a half, while still completely single.

Dash had understood that pressure, and had shared the same desire to find the 'perfect one' rather than settling for anything less.

But then he _had_ found that 'perfect one.' And Violet was left out in the cold.

_"You must feel horrible, having your younger brother marry before you,"_ a well-meaning aunt had said, half-sympathizing. But it had taken all of her self control not to send the woman flying across the room, along with her gossipmonger nature. No one else had said it to her face, but those were the whispers and thoughts flying around as she'd caught Supers and Civilians alike glancing at her from curiously to knowingly.

It was pretty horrible, as a woman, to have any younger sibling marry before her. But she hadn't thought when they were teenagers that it would be his _hard_.

Not that she really had anything against his new bride, Lilo. The girl had accepted then all with grace and aplomb, before introducing the entire Super family to her own 'nuclear' one. They were a ragtag bunch together, but all around everyone got along. Jumba and her father routinely fought over football teams while Pleakley was all about learning homemaking skills from her mother. Meanwhile a few of Stitch's 'cousins,' and the furry blue alien himself, were as thick as thieves with mischievous little Jackson. Leaving her to a mellow friendship with Lilo's sister Nani, and Nani's fiancé, David.

But it was hard when those closest to her age, her brother included, were paired off. Like a salt shaker without its peppery match. She could listen to and intellectually understand the jokes and the little looks of adoration her brother and new sister in law shared, along with Nani's references to David and his good-intentioned mishaps. But feeling it was another matter, and the hero couldn't help but feel like she was being left behind. As the only one alone, the only one still in school, and the only adult still living at home.

Speaking of which, it was about time she changed that.

Sighing at her unsolvable dilemma, as well as her own rising frustration with herself, Violet made a move to leave the kitchen.

The thought led to action, and she visibly calmed herself as she snatched up a monogrammed napkin (_Lilo & Dashiell Dec 4 2009_) in order to wipe away tears of anxiety. A couple of deep, yoga-inspired breaths later she was fit to return back into the fray, if only for a short period. She'd had time to vent, time to think, and time to straighten her appearance, which should help. And while what she really wanted was to duck into a dark corner and self-pity her way through the night, hiding for too long only led to concerned questions from her father and brothers. Not that Dash was really noticing much at this point, other than his new bride.

Speaking of…

Violet groaned upon entering as she saw the girl's sister summon the feminine congregation into the front for the bouquet toss. Her heel itched to do an about-face, but somehow she knew karma would play a trick and trip her up on the way, so she remained stationary for the moment. A rap of her knuckles on the kitchen door let her alien friend know something important was happening so he could jump in and take a few pictures, before she turned in order to hide behind several deliberately placed fake fir trees, decorated for a very "Blue Christmas."

Then one shimmy later and she was surrounded by muted light, form crouching in an effort to figuratively disappear. The fabric she was wearing really was beautiful, metallic orange color aside, but it didn't have invisibility capabilities and she cursed for what felt like the millionth time that night its negative aspects. For while a majority of the guests were familiar with both families' 'secrets,' there were a few people that weren't 'in the know.' Dash's employer, for instance, or Kari McKeen. Everything was being carefully watched over by NSA officials and Supers alike, but they were still doing their best to avoid accidents. And the sudden disappearance of one of the bridesmaid's heads, hands, and feet could possibly constitute as an 'accident.'

"One would think you didn't want to participate or something?" a male voice interrupted her reverie, sounding calm and dark simultaneously. Surrounded by false pines, Vi shivered.

"Now why would anyone think that?" was her tart, unthinking response. And immediately after the woman blinked, touching her mouth to her lips. That hadn't been what she had planned to say, but somehow when she'd opened her mouth to speak instead the fighting words had popped out. Still, the unseen gentleman took them in stride.

"…do I have to answer that?" she said, and then he chuckled. It was a familiar laugh in the way fear was familiar, and evoked a sense of danger that was unexpected. Still, its jovial lightheartedness set her at ease for the moment.

"You can if you want to, but then again I'm not the one talking to a tree."

"And what a lovely tree it is."

Which set her off blushing, although she couldn't figure out why.

"I bet you say that to all the trees," was her final, stuttering response.

"No, just the Pines," and some other emphasis escaped through their plastic barrier but she couldn't figure out just what he meant by that, "anyway, they're done so you can come out now. And it looks like the groom is looking for you."

"Really?" the question was matched with sudden optimism and she perked up despite herself. Until her mystery savior barked out a laugh.

"Naw. I just wanted you to come out," and an insufferable smile somehow eked itself into his tone. Violet pointedly didn't resist the urge to roller her eyes, huffing indignantly. He in turn snickered at her ire, sounding so much like her brother (and thoroughly up to mischief) that she could cry. And somehow the man seemed to sense the change.

"Look, I really don't ask this much--as in _not at all_. But…you doin' okay there?"

"Fine," she sniffed, then put on a brave face immediately thereafter, "so, the coast is clear, then?"

"As much as it'll ever be, although I'm starting to get some funny looks from an opera singer in chartreuse."

A half laugh, half sob choked its way out, "my aunt. She's very…aware."

"About who's who and what's what and the business that isn't hers, I'm guessing?" was the mumbled humor that tumbled into her ears, and somehow Violet felt better immediately. Good enough to possibly climb out of hiding, even. Because as long as there was even _one person_ that understood a measure of her frustration, she was good.

"You've got it. Okay, one second. I'm coming out," mindful of the amount of leg she was showing, Vi attempted to hold down the fabric with one hand and in the process nearly lost her balance, about to crash into one of the trees. A strong hand immediately gripped hers and she leaned into it gratefully, never looking up from her tangle of skirts.

A tug later the certainty of her step faltered as she tripped. Violet cried out in surprise and without question her sarcastic companion stepped up to the plate and caught her. Bringing the woman face-to-chest with a man the second time that day.

The _same_ man, she connected with mortified realization, recognizing the texture and cut of the suit he wore. Beneath her hand his heartbeat seemed to stutter and leap and unconsciously the arms she had fallen into tightened once, then abruptly became loose.

"Sorry."

"No, um, it's okay," she reflexively patted the solid surface holding her up, then abruptly blushed as awareness sparked its way through her fingertips. Smiling somewhat ironically, she looked up to finally meet her rescuer, "it looks like my balance is MIA today. I think I ran--."

Words ended as her mouth closed into a wordless moue.

"I know you," Vi spoke without thinking but when he jumped at her words she didn't take them back. Instead he just stared right back, a curiously surprised look on his face like he was seeing someone he'd never expected to see again. The visual cleared quickly as he seemed to proverbially shake the feeling off, and released a wry smile.

"Really? I mean I'd say I just 'had one of those face,' but really…I don't."

"Yeah, you kind of have something sticking out of your lower lip, there," she joked, and the man blinked. As though no one had ever teased him before. The moment resulted in a bark of laughter and the anxiety between them broke, resettling into a calmer, more fluid form.

But truly, he didn't have any features she was accustomed to. And as a fulltime hero she'd seen quite a bit in her eight years of experience, from raging Technicolor Mohawks to hunchbacks with an affinity for ballet shoes. Not that his appearance was…unpleasant. Just a little striking.

Like his blue eyes for instance. They gleamed intelligently beneath a full layer of auburn eyebrows, angled just-so, in the event that he might need to look sternly at an underling. A short, blunt hawk nose became the arrow which pointed towards his wide, flat lips. A framework for smiles which came and went, as indicated by the laugh lines outlining lightly freckled cheeks. Although she had a feeling he was more partial to smirks than grins of approval.

He was broader and stockier than most of the men she worked with, but not so large as to fall into her father's extreme. And he pulled the 'lantern jaw of justice' off well, despite her teasing, but it was a little too large for him to be considered handsome; like a cross between Jay Leno and Jack Black.

A strong widow's peak dominated the other half of his head, leading into fiery, but slightly faded red hair, and she could tell that it had at one time been clipped in a short, almost military-like cut. But it had since started growing out and now existed in a grassy plain along his large head, waves rolling with each tilting glance. She knew from personal experience with her brother that if he kept letting it grow out it would eventually become a tangled undergrowth of unkempt strands, but at the stage it was in it looked good on him; balancing out his other extreme feature.

"Well, considering the company we keep," he drawled, processing a sneer on a dime as he returned to their previous topic. And with a start Vi realized she'd been staring far longer than was comfortable. He didn't seem to notice her inattention, and she wondered for a moment if he was a businessman of some sort; accustomed to talking to himself in the presence of others and not receiving any rhetorical response, "we've probably just run into one another sometime or other, within the 'circuit.'"

But the distasteful grimace he pulled expressed just how much he was hoping that wasn't the case.

The girl blinked and shrugged, "maybe. Everyone calls me Vi, by the way."

"Bud," he answered smoothly and took the hand which she'd been tapping thoughtfully against her chin, shaking it easily. She couldn't stifle the blush that rolled through her being, knocking her flat as a lurch of heat zinged straight to her stomach. Thankfully he removed his grip before she could further fall into cardiac arrest.

"Have a seat."

As he motioned for her to sit she noticed a present, wrapped in ivory and silver paper lightly embossed with elegant 'S's, sat on the table between where they stood and next to his cheap plastic punch glass, dividing the space between her personal space bubble versus his. Her fingers itched to move it to the flowered archway the bride's pseudo-family had designed specifically for holding gifts, but allowed it to stay as an excuse not to leave the table. And his fingers seemed to twitch around the object, almost possessively.

It probably wasn't the best idea to take it from him. At least not until later.

"Thanks," she said and much to her surprise he slid a second, untouched drink across the table, "how did you…?"

He flushed an unbecoming vermillion, which suddenly made him ten years younger. About her age, she realized, accurately guessing him to be in his early thirties, "I saw when you hid and thought…"

"Our future conversation would make me thirsty? " she clucked her tongue disapprovingly but made no further move to tease him as her mouth and mind were suddenly full. _So, he'd been watching her, then._

"Something like that," words paused for a moment as a full-blown grin developed, his assessing gaze flickering over her as though in a test of approval she knew she'd somehow failed at, "so. Orange and blue, huh?"

It was her turn to be embarrassed, cheeks turning hot. And on her pallid, almost sickly complexion she knew the color clashed just as badly as it did on his freckled skin, "well, orange is Dash's favorite color,, and Lilo said she wanted to have an Elvis-themed 'Blue Christmas' wedding. So…"

"Hmm. That explains a few things," his eyebrows evened out in a droll roll and she knew he'd seen the park bench they'd rented, complete with official Elvis cardboard cutout. Currently several teenagers were pretending to snuggle up to the object and taking pictures with a variety of camera phones, making Vi wince.

She _really_ hoped Lilo wouldn't see, and consequently destroy the peace of her own wedding reception with a tirade on the virtues of Elvis.

If one thing was certain, it was that her brother definitely hadn't married a weak-willed woman.

Thankfully Stitch wandered by just moments after, dressed handsomely in a tailored tux, complete with Hawaiian flowers strung about his neck in place of a boutonnière. He shooed off the children with a simple hiss and the scattered easily.

"Yeah, when they told me I was really worried, but," and here she let out the breath she'd been holding, tension minutely released, "it didn't turn out as bad as I thought it would. It kind of looks like one of my coworkers set it up, even," she observed quietly, looking over the dark navy blue tablecloths with their thin ribbing of orange.

Even the centerpieces had been thoughtfully put together, with blue translucent stones resting at the bottom of delicately blow glass bowls. The only hint of a brighter color existed in the form of several golden Koi at each table, swimming calmly within the confines of their new homes.

Violet knew that they were going to her youngest brother when all was said and done and sort-of felt remorse for the beautiful creatures' fate.

But not much. She'd never really liked fish as pets.

"And the dresses?" his thin lips stretched into what she was beginning to identify as his sardonic smile. It seemed like an impression of humor was almost permanently etched into his features, whether for good or ill.

She flushed again, "Lilo wanted us to 'dance like flames under a blue sky.'"

"Ha. Well," and here the honesty was startling in its integrity, especially after so much mockery, "it looks good on you."

"Honest?"

"Honest. For once."

She let out an amused snort, "up to mischief in your spare time, I'm guessing?"

"something like that," the guest drawled, eyes shuttered once again. But not without allowing her a glimpse of his feelings.

Humor. Pure humor leaking out of the slat-covered crevices of his eyes. As if to say, 'nice try, n00b. Better luck getting hacking in next time.' Vi conceded gracefully, nodding, but by no means giving in. A one-sided conversation wasn't something she desired, and as much as it flattered her to receive so many questions, especially from an intelligent, older man, she hadn't talked this much about herself since high school. And usually it had existed in the context of naming off all the states she'd lived in. By golly, it was his turn to bear the brunt of questioning. Even if she had to wrestle the information out of him.

"You're an Ex then, I'm guessing?"

And there he went turning it back on her. Too slow, do not pass go and definitely _do not_ collect two hundred dollars.

Violet smiling wryly at the assumption, and setting aside her competitive streak for the moment, she couldn't help but let out a little, mirthless laugh. It was true that she didn't resemble her brother much, and she _had_ changed over the years (particularly with a return to her normal hair color), but that was definitely a first, "yeah…no. Just…_ew_. No."

Her expression seemed to set something off in him, and the guest outright laughed, lids closing and head tilted back with humor. A second later he was wiping away tears and bringing his eyes back to meet hers, only to be caught off guard as a spark connected between them, blue eyes to blue. In an instant the smirk was gone, serious intent taking its place. As though she was a puzzle he couldn't seem to figure out, and for a moment her breath caught under that look.

Like no one, no guests and certainly no curious aunts, existed in the world.

"_Good_," he said in a low rumble, then seemed surprised that the word had come out. The man didn't seem like the type to speak his thoughts out loud; it was more likely that he held them close to his chest like cards, before finally making his move. This knowledge brought out a self-recriminating wry little smirk, stating without words that he knew _she_ knew he wasn't prone to revealing anything. Period. But he wasn't going to retract the word, either, from what she could tell.

"So…you're not an Ex, and you don't seem like a random relation. Does that make you a friend of the bride? Although you don't seem to fit the M.M.O., what with the pasty complexion and all."

"So you're insulting me now?"

"Hey, you started it. And I might be a redhead, but you take the cake when it comes to being a sunburn-magnet. Plus, everyone else seems to have the aura of 'Surfer Dude,' so I doubt I'm wrong."

"No," Violet chuckled, "you're actually fairly right. I'm not one of Lilo's guests, if that's what you mean."

"Then what? 'Honorary coworker of awesomeness', so much that you somehow got roped into being a bridesmaid?" he smiled as he said this and took a sip of his punch concoction, before grimacing at its watered-down taste.

The young heroine shook her head in humor as well as denial, a smile lingering on her lips as she blew a lock of hair out from before her eyes, "nothing so grand. Just a sister."

Something flickered, and his openness dropped slightly. As did his drink, the cup falling through slack fingers before he caught it just in time, "to the…"

"The groom. He's my little brother. Not that he's all that little anymore," irony distracted her from watching her companion as she locked a half irritated, half fond look on Dash, "one minute the little insect is putting tacks on his teacher's chair and the next he's suddenly married. Go figure."

"Tacks, huh?" and abruptly he was no longer meeting her gaze, but was instead looking at the refreshment table, his hands; anything but her. As he continued to awkwardly rub the back of his neck Violet frowned.

What was wrong?

"Yeah. He got into trouble for a while there, as a child."

That sparked his interest slightly, "Juvie?"

"Something like that," she echoed right back at him, teasing again, "Let's just say he got pulled into the principal's office pretty much every other Friday. And if he hadn't straightened out then who knows what would have happened? I wonder about it sometimes; different 'what if' scenarios."

The businessman muttered something that sounded like '…icked the wrong brother,' but she couldn't be sure, and Vi sent him a querying glance. The red haired man merely coughed and motioned her on.

"So…yeah. He's my brother. And, well," taking her own glance at the table and the drink in her hand, Violet's brows twitched in an odd grimace-twitch as she fought the anxiety that had eaten at her just minutes before. And had been eating at her for months now, "I know I should be happy for him and all, but, well part of me kind of…"

"Hates it?"

"Yeah," surprised at how he'd hit it on the money, the girl felt her now-dark brown eyebrows leap. He still wasn't looking at her but at least the flat expression he'd born had morphed into something a little more expressive, although still far from being comfortable. What had changed in those few small seconds? "Everyone keeps telling me how I should be happy for them, and I try, but I can't. Not really."

"Well, you shouldn't have to be," were the smart, sharp words which came out of his mouth. A feature that had somehow twisted into an ironic parody of thoughtfulness, "He's your brother and you've got the right to be ticked off. Worse, he's your _kid_ brother, and some broad is taking him from you and hightailing it out of state. So _be_ mad."

The wording he chose made her smile, but it was the fact that he was finally back to looking her in the eye, rather than avoiding her gaze, which made her smile wider, "how did you…?"

"Cousin; I felt the same way when she got married," almost reluctant to say it, she could tell how difficult it was for him to share this minute detail with her. But still he pressed on, resolutely. Like a man marching proudly to his own death sentence, "I've always known there wasn't a man good enough for her, so I had the hardest time _not_ beating the hide out of the little crap-tart when I found out they were engaged. Made me want to puree' his insides."

"Sounds comfortable."

Her bland humor warmed him some and he leaned forward in shared understanding, face tucked slightly behind his folded arms so that all that could be seen was his electric eyes. Violet blushed slightly and hid behind a delicate curl of umber hair, unused to such focused scrutiny.

"It's got to be worse when they're younger than you are, isn't it?" were her eventual words, and he nodded in mute agreement, "because then you realize just how alon-."

The words petered down from a river to a drip as her brain caught up with her mouth. And then she blushed again, "um, nevermind." Still, a part of her was warming up to him. Just the thought of his understanding, even if they saw flip sides of the situation, was comforting, and it was nice to have someone that 'sort of' understood her feelings. Even if they weren't the most positive.

"Anyway, thanks Bud. I appreciate your help--not very many people understand me like you do," and then she unthinkingly reached over to pat his hand. The act had been instinctive; she already felt comfortable in the stranger's presence. But somehow it seemed to be the wrong to say as he abruptly froze. Hand clenching on his drink and back hunched.

"Understanding…" he murmured, and the words were mumbled and half-hearted. Eyes once alight with humor and interest were again avoiding hers, tracing a stain left behind on the embroidered tablecloth.

About to ask what was wrong, her question was derailed before it could even be shared as he stood abruptly, tiredly loosened the neck of his shirt and tie. His expressions alternated between resignation, anger and back again as he turned away. And just as Vi was about to search out their meaning he name was abruptly called; her father's elephant bellow tearing aside the crowds. Her companion nearly snarled at the sound, but instead rotated completely on one heel in order to storm more fully out the reception hall.

Moments later she was literally dragged into a flurry of furious snapshots; pictures which had to be taken twice a piece merely for the distracted look she held in all of them. As soon as the photographer paused she was heading out the door, and over one shoulder she sent a thankful look to her new 'Brother-In-Law' as Stitch did his best and finest job at halting the woman and stalling the process further.

Her eyes immediately searched for red hair but only found an empty entryway and a near-full trashcan. Brow furrowed, Vi held herself tightly still, anxiety pulled up to her chin like a blanket as she searched for the seeming businessman. All the while thoughts streamed through her head like uncensored cable, furtive and full of shadows.

Why had he run? And why had he reacted the way he did? Particularly to her being Dash's sister? From the point where she'd explained her relationship to the groom and onward he'd been anxious and uncomfortable. Like a dog that had been kicked one too many times and was ready to either bite or run away, tail between his legs.

And why had he taken on that resigned air, as though being allowed one last meal before death?

Lost in thought and frustrated with her warring curiosity and rising anxiety, Violet leaned against the closest object, only to find herself tumbling to the floor as the round industrial-size garbage can rolled away.

Grumbling to herself and silently thanking the fact that no one had been present to see her third disgraceful move that evening, she gripped the lip of the tub in order to hoist herself back up. Then checked her uneven stance to find that the gosh-awful heels her mother had foisted off on her were officially broken. _Amen._

Breaking off the second stilettoed heel so that she had a pair of matching, if odd, flats, Violet made a move to toss them into the garbage.

Then stopped.

Sitting atop a pile of used paper plates and cups, and looking like the victim of a revolutionary demonstration, lay Bud's present. It's silver wrapping had been mauled apart down to its base bones, innards a tangled mess of wires and plastic, so that it looked more like the remains of a homicidal act than a gift.

Seeing those wires, however, turned her cold as she retrieved the destroyed object. With its slim LCD screen showing it almost looked like he'd been about to give them an alarm clock, before tearing it to shreds himself. But the wires were more than simple conductors of electricity, and frantically digging deeper Violet was horrified to find the residue of some kind of clay, having been forcibly removed. Side by side with the shattered remains of what had once been cheap PVC pipe.

A bomb.

Bud had been about to plant a bomb.

But why?

Slamming into her forcibly from all sides came his words, slinging like stones until she was beaten nigh unto death; bullets in the form of strung-along sentences.

_It was a familiar laugh in the way fear was familiar, and evoked a sense of danger that was unexpected._

_She joked, and the man blinked. As though no one had ever teased him before._

"_Well, considering the company we keep," he drawled, processing a sneer on a dime, "we've probably just run into one another sometime or other, within the 'circuit.'"_

"_Honest. For once."_

"_Up to mischief in your spare time, I'm guessing?"_

"_Something like that."_

"_Nothing so grand. Just a sister."_

_Something flickered, and his openness dropped slightly, "to the…"_

"…**p**_icked the wrong brother."_

"_So _be_ mad."_

"_Made me want to puree' his insides."_

"_Sounds comfortable."_

The sneers, the disgust, and especially his reaction to her father's voice were all making sense now. And she probably had run into him in the arena that existed between heroes and villains, but definitely not as an ally.

But how could he lower himself to something like this; how could he be so cold-hearted as to bomb them all in the middle of such a joyous occasion as a wedding? And if he was so determined to destroy them all then what had stopped him from activating the device? What had moved him to _destroy_ the thing, even? Or had he simply run out of time?

Did that mean that their conversation had distracted him long enough he'd lost track of his purpose; had she saved her family through pure accident or was there something she didn't know?

Maybe he'd been just using her from the start; his interest completely false.

One thing she knew--she wasn't going to let this slide. _Incredigirl_ was mad and one thing you didn't want to do was make a Super mad. Especially when she was an expert in stealth.

She would find this 'Bud,' and when she did she had a few questions to ask him. After all, no one messed with her family.

_'No fury like a woman scorned,' indeed._

And in an instant all the anger she'd felt regarding her brother siphoned into something stronger. She'd been trying to protect him, in her own backwards way. But now it had a focus. Bud had helped her, whether he knew it or not. But he would soon find it to his disadvantage.

She guaranteed it.

~/~/~

AN: This kinda had the feel of a backwards version of 'Masks,' to me. Maybe, I dunno. *shrugs* Oh well, the next installment will be more interesting.

I know a fir tree is either a type of pine, or a pine is a type of fir. It's something like that, but don't ask me how. *shrugs wryly*

Juvie is an abbreviation for the Juvenile Detention Center.

Changed Violet's hair to a really dark brown. Just for the 'hey' of it.

In math class in high school I once got paired up with a guy known for mischief-making. After the initial awkwardness we got along fine, and then he took it upon himself to teach me the steps for making simple pipe bombs and killing seagulls with antacids. I really enjoyed that class.

Most of this chapter is autobiographical. My brother got married just this last December 2009, and it was to my Ex-Roommate no less. During the wedding we (my current roommie and I) were forced into dresses of red and green, became responsible for a bunch of different tasks everyone else had either ignored or blatantly overlooked, while also supervising the rest of their siblings (9 of them) the rest of the time.

I actually had a pretty hard time of it, for exactly the same reasons Violet does, although the wedding and reception turned out to be more beautiful than expected. And amusingly enough the conversation Buddy has with her (about his 'cousin') is one I had in part with a friend I hadn't seen in a while. I can't remember exactly how it went, but it's what helped me get over my feelings.


	10. The Serpent and the Sparrow

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "_A bird may love a fish, Signore, but where would they live?" _ Synlet. Tie in to chapter 5.

**The tenth in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. =^__^= Which was, ya know, in November. ^^;**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself.

~/~/~

Chapter 10: The Serpent and the Sparrow

"_A bird may love a fish, Signore, but where would they live?"_

--Danielle, _Ever After_

"_Then I shall have to make you wings."_

--Leonardo Da Vinci, _Ever After_

~/~/~

"…_what if I were to tell you that I could make you __**far greater than the King ever was**__? To __**elevate you to such heights**__ that none could stop you--none could keep you from your path of glory?"_

_And then he knew._

_He had become a Dragon, the most evil of all creatures. Hunted by Knight and by mob, ever alone and eternally pursued. He was cursed…and there was no way to be free of it._

-_Synchronous_, Chapter 5

~/~/~

His wings were wide enough to block out the moonlight, she realized sleepily as she curled up more tightly within the warm sport just at the base of his neck, pressed between two notched ridges. The wings also cut out both noise and the wind chill, she'd discovered in their travels and took solace in now. It was a proverbial nest, and wrapped in both her traveling cloak and blanket she couldn't recall feeling safer in all her life.

But it couldn't last forever, and she found herself struggling to stand up as sleep eluded her. Bracing hands soft with a life of, first, embroidery, then later research on the toughened plates of his shoulder blades, she was able to reach the narrow ridge of spires running along his spine. Lifting herself up into position upon his shoulder.

It was a precarious position to be in, but Viola wanted to be relatively on the same level as his eyes when she spoken to him, her arms wrapped tightly around one side of his neck.

"So…where are we?" she called into the wind, but the rush of air stole her words so that they came back as no more than a whisper. Still, his sensitive ears heard her and the man-beast answered without pausing.

_'Somewhere above Metrovillage. I lost track when it started raining a while back.'_

"Rain?" she frowned, drawing her cover closer about her shoulders, "I don't remember any rain."

It was the dragon's turn to turn bashful; a singularly out of character moment.

_'I…blocked it out. Just pulled my wings closer together for a while, is all.'_

"For how long?" she asked suspiciously.

_'…about an hour.'_

"You could have landed, you know. For the night at least," the sensible side of her spoke up, thinking about what it must have been like to fly through frigid rain, "your shoulders are probably going to get all knotted up from the beating you put them through."

_'It's quicker this way. The sooner we get in, the sooner we can get out. And when we do…'_

"You'll be free from the curse," the young woman filled in, quieter this time. She didn't know why, but every time she thought about it she became melancholy. It was so _final_, so permanent. And the idea of such a 'free' being wishing to have the constraints of humanity put upon him seemed, somehow…bittersweet. But a promise was a promise, and she'd never been one to go back on her word, "I'll do my best to fix your problem if defeating him outright doesn't work. And even if it takes me years, I'll somehow find a way to transform you back."

_'Years, huh? You could end up being stuck with me, Princess.'_

A playful shove against the flesh of his neck said without words her slight displeasure. Not so much at his allusion, but the title he'd tacked on at the end. Rolling her eyes Viola muttered, "you know I don't like being called that."

_'I beg your forgiveness, your Royal Apprentice-ness.'_

"Besides, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. At least I wouldn't be treated like a laughingstock anymore, with you backing me."

_'You? Ridiculed? Who would have guessed it?'_ sardonic humor rolled off his proverbial tongue like butter, and even though she was technically the insulted party in their banter she had to hold back a laugh.

"Why? Does the idea of it surprise you? That someone else beat you to the punch?"

_'Not really. You're a pretty easy mark. Even for a Princess.'_

"So you've met a lot of Princesses, then? This makes you the expert on all things blue-blooded, I'm guessing," her words arch in tone, he took up the challenge with his own retort.

_'No. Just arrogant brats out to make a mess of things.'_

Navy eyes narrowed, then rolled, "ha ha. You're a funny one. Tell me another one, like the story of the Dragon that set its own tail on fire."

_'That was an accident, and no one can prove it was me!'_ he proclaimed, and Viola let things lay like that for the next few minutes, her upbeat emotion systematically dropping with every metronomic wing-beat. The young woman's slim legs were nearly tucked up under her chin, only the arm attached to his neck keeping her steady.

"You know," she finally bookmarked the silence, thoughtfully sweeping a few strands of hair from her face, the pieces having escaped from her long braid, "I really did get taunted. And bullied. And tricked. I think it's because when I was born the Sorcerer proclaimed that I would save the kingdom, and father expected a boy. But he got me instead."

_'The King rejected you because you weren't male?'_ the sneer in his mental tone clearly conveyed his own disdain for the man, and Viola rolled her eyes again. This time irritably.

"No! Well, father was disappointed, but he came to love me soon enough."

Wistfully staring up into the night sky, the missing Princess wondered how her family was and whether they were safe. All she had to hold onto was the determined look in King Robert's eye as he had forcibly told her to take the passageway to freedom; a passage only she had been able to fit through. But behind him had stood her mother, Lady Elaine, the baby Jaxon wrapped in her tensed arms. Her brother Dashiell had stood steadfast and immovable before the door under siege, fencing sword sharpened to a deadly point so as to improve the speed of his blows.

They loved her and they trusted her, otherwise her father wouldn't have sent her away in order to save them. It was as simple as that. The moment the wizard had attacked it had all made sense, and in a way it had been a fulfilling of their father-daughter relationship. With the knowledge that, for once, he was going to have to let things remain in the hands of those more experienced.

Even if those hands belonged to his seventeen-year old daughter.

No, her father loved her. More than he could ever express, she knew.

Pondering the gift she had finally come to recognize, Viola continued, "Mother used to tell me stories about when I was a baby. Father expected a son to carry on the warrior name, and when I was born he nearly lost his faith in the Sorcerer Richard, who had prophesied of my coming years before I was even born. But when he first spied my little bundle, his best knight, Sir Lucien, explained that there was more than one way to save a kingdom. And when the King held me for the first time he could only agree."

The dragon had no response to such heartfelt honestly and so remained entirely silent. But Viola neither noticed nor recognized the uncertainty of his quiet, finishing the tale by saying, "I became the apple of his eye, and mother doted on me as much as I would allow. And after that Father became a kinder King. Lowering taxes, aiding those in need. Crusades and adventures came less often, much to my mother's joy, and he came to love the town and the people he served. Once the King became a father his heart softened, and he learned to love all children in both the country and town."

"He even created a school for young Knights in training, and those wishing to Squire out to Lords."

Unexpectedly, her traveling companion recoiled.

"Dragon!" she shouted frantically as her formerly luxurious position became a whirlwind of rage and uncertainty.

Realizing he had just put his rider in danger, the creature snarled something, then coughed and seemingly spat to the side in disgust. Only when he had finally settled in the air again she dared to ask if he was all right.

_'I'm fine. 's nothing.'_

"Are you sure? Because if you're hurting from that rainstorm we can always--."

_'I SAID I WAS FINE!'_ the roar sounded like a lion to her unprotected ears, and Viola spent the next several minutes trying to hide her shaking from him. But evidently he noticed, because the next time he 'spoke' it was much softer and more controlled, but only just barely in check, _'so if your pa loved you, why were you ridiculed? You'd think he would protect his daughter or something from humiliation like that.'_

"Well…I didn't tell him," she felt uncomfortable saying the words out loud, the combination of pride and cowardice that she'd felt verbalized for the first time in her life, "I didn't wanted to be pitied or treated any differently than anyone else, so I acted normal around the King as much as I could…"

_'So you do have some pride after all.'_

"Enough to go before the fall. It got worse when the village girls found out about my Naming Poem," she mumbled out the information almost reflectively, so that her companion at first wasn't sure she'd said anything. But when he queried for more information she blinked once, straightened, and turned to clarify.

"Every member of royalty has a Naming Poem--it's been that way since the country first was founded by my ancestors. When Lord Farid saved the land from tyrants overtaking it, it was revealed that his coming had been prophesied long before it happened. Sorceress Gheyssel, who later became his Queen," she paused to note, remembering her history accurately, "revealed that in the magic circuit a series of predictions had been made regards unspecified events and people. In most cases those involved didn't even know it was about them until after the fact. Since then, however, a strange phenomenon has occurred in that the resident magic user receives a revelation for almost every generation of royals. Additionally, what with the introduction magic into the royal line, in most cases at least one magic user will crop up in every generation."

'_Like you?'_

"Like me."

One massive eye ridge arched thoughtfully, before he voiced something else that had been niggling at the back of his skull, _'so those with magic become resident sorcerers. You, in the royal family, are replacing this 'Rick' guy. What does that make him?'_

"_Sorcerer Richard _of the House of Dicker," Viola corrected archly, "he's not a royal, but is a wanderer who traveled for many years, aiding those under corrupt rule and teaching those with magic powers. When he reached our kingdom it was during my father's time, when he was already stooped with age and experience. He had intended to stay for only a short period, but ailment kept him through the winter and afterwards he declared that his stay was permanent. He has been aiding my father for years, and is a trusted advisor. And_ my_ revered teacher."

_So mock him one more time and you'll be losing a wingspar_, the silence between them seemed to say. Breathing heavily through his nose, the 'Dragon' resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head. Knowing, without a doubt, that a movement like that would possibly have a negative outcome for the shoulder-perching Princess. But wry thought paused mid-journey as a flash of memory shot through his consciousness, startling him enough that he almost forgot to fly.

'_Wait. This Sorcerer…he didn't happen to be stoop-shouldered, with grey robes and eyes and hair? Who looked like an old dog with a wide nose? Never really smiles, except with his eyes?'_

"Yes, actually. But how could you have known him? That would mean you would have had to be…" both left the thought unfinished, the young woman's eyes drawing wide as her mouth fell, slack-jawed, "just…how old _were you_ when you were…changed?"

'_I can't remember. It's been a long time, and soon enough the years blur into one another. Every season looks much like the one that came the year before, anyway.'_

They both fell silent, lost in thought. Time passed by like this for what seemed like hours, but could have very well been mere minutes to the Sorceress-in-training. Then, feelings tumbling over one another with a sudden influx of emotional information, Viola felt the desire to act.

Pulling herself tighter against his form and persistently tugging her glove off, the sorceress in training wriggled a slim hand beneath one platter-sized scale, and to the skin underneath. Once there she ran the very tips along his inner skin, feeling his pulse flutter to the rhythm of wing beats, something she'd wanted to do since they'd met at the waterfall, the light glimmering through the drops of liquid that had run down his scaled form. Then, closing her eyes for a half a moment, she wondered what it would be like to touch a man's hand.

As both a Princess and a Sorceress-in-training she'd been sequestered from others, and particularly those of the opposite gender. First as they'd made fun of her, then later as she became dedicated to the magic arts, working to take their aging magic-user's place. The closest she'd ever come to having a suitor was in the form of Sir Anthony, but when he'd fallen for one of her former Ladies in Waiting, Karina, she'd given up on even interacting with a man. Until now.

Not that 'her beast' was the best example of the species.

Her brief flashback was cut short as the foundation shook beneath her, the dragon abruptly doing a halt mid-air. In the process he almost threw her from her perch, and nearly loosened the carryall she'd attached to one of his crimson spires as well.

_'What in spells was that?!'_

Her hand retracted faster than a turtle to its shell, "forgive me! I was just curious--please don't be angry with me!"

_'What did you--how in the worl--what?!'_ he seemed to clear his mental throat as the blue eyes previously trained on their path whirled around to face her, a boxy jaw and solid fangs coming around on winding neck to face her completely. Violet swallowed hard as she was abruptly forced to explain.

"I just…wondered how it would be…"

_'…'_ the dragon wordlessly expressed his confusion, waiting for an actual response.

"…to feel what you were like. Your scales always get in the way and I thought that if I tried the muscle underneath that I might be able to…" her words petered off, thought filtering in.

_To what? To somehow show that she cared? _her subconscious sneered_._ She was averse to physical touch of any kind as it was, so what made him different? Was it the fact that he was a creature rather than a person, maybe, or could it be that _she_ was the one making the first gestures of friendship?

Whatever it was, she felt a certain measure of kinship for the transformed man. Although under examination she couldn't determine what it amounted to.

It was more than friendship, and more than affection. It was the knowledge that there was one person in existence who understood her entirely, even if that one person was nothing like her. Gender, age, or species. It was a kind of warmth that began in her ribcage and flowed outward, like liquid sunshine pumping through her veins. A blanket of heat surrounding her heart, so prevalent and so beautiful that it practically hurt.

But how could something that hurt also be so wonderful? It was a contradiction, and she'd been taught to keep an eye out for contradictions, both in life and in texts. But somehow it still existed.

Maybe the lesson her Master had taught her about accepting what was unchangeable hadn't been about life or death, or even fate? But of feelings and emotions over those intellectual 'must-be's' that had dominated her life.

Because what wasn't making sense in her head, this sentiment washing over her, was clicking into place somewhere to the left of her breastbone. Somewhere deep and pounding. As though the love she felt for her parents and brothers was compounded and changed somehow, morphing by magic into another form, just as he had been changed.

It was growing into something different…like a strange, faceted jewel-love. Where she cherished her cantankerous companion for his sharp edges, rather than trying to smooth them over.

His words interrupted her self-aimed confusion.

_'Okay…I'll let you do it, then. Just…'_

"I'll be careful," she promised with child-like innocence. And how could she have known that at that moment the dragon's heart softened?

Several minutes passed by as she rested her hand against the slightly dry, ever-so-soft skin just below the surface, his heart beat rising and falling in an almost-purr of reverberating sound that shook her very body. The dragon said nothing, merely flying continually into the darkness, but every now and again she would see the glint of moonlight bounce off his lightning-blue eyes as he looked back at her. Confusion and fear and hope warring for control.

And then it clicked.

"You haven't felt human touch for years, have you?" the epiphany came out in a whisper of realization, but had the effect of a lightning strike.

And he hadn't, she knew, his serpentine form freezing like the crystal statue in her mother's lounge. The man-beast said nothing, but she already had her answer, and as the mathematical formula of truth added up behind her eyes Viola made a second realization.

He _should_ be insane. Viola knew this from having studied cases of self-seclusion in her magic books, but all he'd come out with was a bad attitude and case of sarcasm a town wide. But somehow even that became a blessing in her eyes. It redeemed his soul, somehow giving him a chance amid the chaos of their situation.

A chance.

A chance to become a man again.

But maybe there was something there; an element that she'd missed that could possibly change everything? Perhaps there was something about him that made him different; something that had helped him cope with being trapped within his own mind.

Training took over as years of tome studying came to mind, the Princess desperately attempting to remember what she had learned of dragons. The darkness didn't help, either, in that she couldn't quite get a good visual of his form, but imagination and memory from times of daylight filled in the blanks as she made a mental tally.

Meanwhile his shoulders had hunched directly beneath her perch, and she had to do a quick save or end up with a long drop, _'well…it's not like I was at a loss for company. It just happened to be my luck, however, that all of them were out to __**kill**__ me. By _your father's_ dictates.'_

"My father's dictates? What do you mea--," she slowly said, brow furrowed in her distraction. Abruptly it cleared, "Oh. So _you're_ the one that's been eating all of our flocks over the years. Then he put a bounty on you, and that's why you hate my father."

The breadth of his back tightened further, but his tone adversely became muted, _'some…something like that.'_

One thinly sculpted eyebrow rose at his hesitant 'vocal' tone, but she let it go for the moment, "well, I believe I may have actually solved _that_ problem for you."

_'What, me having volatile house guests?'_

"That and, well…I might be wrong, but," she hesitated, then forged on bravely, "I was just thinking about my studies and I realized that you are probably an Omni-Dragon of the Blue Dragon Type, what with your mottled skin and ridged spine. Otherwise known as _Draco Electricus_, which tend to be Lawful Evil in nature but in your case runs along the same lines as what you were like before the spell was cast."

'_So? What does that have to do with anything?'_

She paused for breath but it wasn't nearly long enough as he was overloaded with information. Just milliseconds later she continued, "This also makes you resistant to certain types of magic, since essentially you are _made_ of magic, which explains why you haven't gone completely insane with the transformation. It also explains your odd shadow, which reveals your true nature," she pointed at the tiny speck below them. He blinked, and she continued, "And from what I recall, your dragon type can actually speak and create spells. So I think it's possible for _you_ to _release yourself_ from your own spell, provided you learn how to verbally speak as a dragon."

'_What.'_

"You might be able to release yourself. With my help, that is," she added hastily.

The information, however, was apparently too much for the transformed being, and he turned to perch on nearby cliff for a moment, 'face' coming around to look her straight on. And in those seconds she reveled in how human his lightning-blue eyes looked as he searched her features for truth.

'You're serious?'

"Yes," the girl nodded, slow smile developing on her lips as she swept away the forelock that always seemed to fall in front of her face.

'_I can release myself. And I could have released myself all this time, if I had only known.'_

"Hypothetically. But only with a magic user's help, probably."

'_And you just happen to be a conveniently present magic user,'_ he murmured in quiet echo, and her smile softened even further. Until, _'which means we don't actually have to defeat Xerex then, I'd wager?'_

Her smile dropped, "_what?_"

A bark of laughter, human in its entirety, caught her unawares, _'no, I gave my word, Princess. And for good or evil I keep the promises I make. But instead let's make this one an even bargain--I help you, you help me. Promise?'_

"I pr--."

'_Don't say it unless you mean it,'_ he interrupted, and for a moment she was chilled by the steel in his tone as enormous jaws clenched. Meeting his look with a fierce one of her own, Viola utilized years of breeding to regally follow.

"I promise, on my magic and my honor, that after having received your help in saving my family and my people, I will release you from your curse. Even if I spend my entire life trying to reverse it, you will be free. On my honor--a Princess never breaks her vow."

The tenseness he'd built up beneath her perched form abruptly disappeared, and she had to hold on tighter to keep from being dislodged. But it was worth it to see the 'expression' on his ferocious face, the intelligent gentleness of his eyes balancing out any and all fear.

'_And here I thought you didn't like being a Princess.'_

"I don't. But a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do."

'_More like a girl.'_

"We're not starting that again, do you hear me?"

'_Right, right…'_

And so they continued their flight. And as they did so the thought of her Naming Poem became suddenly much clearer.

"_When blood moon rise,_

_The seat shall fall._

_Another Kind shall answer call._

_Which once was man,_

_But not at all,_

_Came at hand to answer maid._

_Her hand was fair,_

_And will be so._

_He follows 'ere she asks to go._

_And 'gainst the rain,_

_The fear, the foe,_

_The seat they shall again regain."_

It was a lyrical little ditty, full of half-truths and repetition. Unknown to the Princess, however, there existed another verse. Torn out by the Sorcerer 'Rick,' himself. For he had known if the King had gotten word of it he would have never have let her go. But it was their only hope, as was the redheaded youth he had shown it to just before the boy was taken. Together they would save the kingdom and each other.

They just didn't know it yet.

And so somewhere dark and dank, in a prison cell within Xerex's dark tower, Richard of Dicker hummed a little poem to himself, altered by spiteful children to fit an obscene drinking song. But instead he thought of the merit of those it spoke of.

"_He takes her 'pon,_

_The clouded sky._

_Her soul on wings,_

_To fly or die._

_And if she wants,_

_To see the king._

_Spell must break,_

_And bells must ring."_

"What's your name, Dragon? You've never actually told me," the young woman asked somewhere far away. And in that same dark sky he answered.

_'I…can't remember it,' _and then the transformed man practiced his version of awkward shuffling; a shift in wing movement that jarred ever-so slightly. The dragon seemed to pull the move every time she asked him about his past, _'Just call me…'Friend.'_

"Friend," she tasted the word on her lips, and while it felt right it somehow didn't flow. _Friend, companion, comrade, ally_; none of them seemed to work. But, just on the tip of her tongue, a single word flew off, "…Buddy. How about Buddy?"

~/~/~

AN: Yep, Dash's name stay the same. Violet becomes Viola because I love _Twelfth Night_. Gheyssel is pronounced "Hazel," and is actually my friend's name, from church. And I just like the name 'Farid.' –smiles-

Everyone feels rather out of character, but Buddy the most of all. Then again, I am writing a fantasy one-shot from the perspective of him having been a Dragon for years and Violet being three years older than she is in the series. All in all, I like this one-shot to a certain extent. It's good, story-wise, and there are a lot of in-jokes, but it doesn't quite feel like "Synlet." There needs to be more arguing. XD Still, I like it for the most part.

"Naming Poems" are inspired by "Patriarchal Blessings." The Naming Poem itself was written by me on a whim. And let me assure you that while it seems rather pretty in content, its total crap when it comes to actual poetry requirements. My AP English Teacher is probably scowling at me in disapproval. Yeesh. ^^;


	11. Passing

**Synchronous**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: "What if things had been different? What if fate decided to play a different hand for them?" Slight warning for angst and some slight graphic mentions; not too bad. I'd rate this one T. Connected to chapter 8.

**The eleventh and last one-shot in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. **

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself.

~/~/~

Chapter 11: Passing

"_I wonder why it is, I don't argue like this, with anyone but you. I wonder why it is, I won't let my guard down, for anyone but you." _

–Like a Star, Corrinne Bailey Rae

~/~/~

'Then just as she drew back slightly something soft and feathery brushed along the sharp angle of his cheekbone. It took a few seconds for his mind to process it as a kiss, overwhelmed by both his revelation and her proximity. But by then the dark-haired girl was already leaning closer to whisper in his ear.

"Just four years until I turn eighteen, Buddy," and before he could register the sentence she'd disappeared.'

-_Synchronous_, Chapter 8

~/~/~

She could only smile as she fell to her knees; a bittersweet smile of lost youth and could-have-beens. Shock hadn't even come--it was almost as though the villainess welcomed the pain as it cleared her face of anger, like soothing waves of the sea.

Buddy, in turn, could only watch in growing anguish. It was like Frozone's death so many years before; one second he'd been living, joking, and the next he'd only been able to toss the red-haired youth a devil-may-care, "what can you do?" grin before falling into eternal silence. The detective had been unable to do anything then, too. Only now it was worse.

Because it was by his hand and through his weapon that her spirit was being crushed, piercing her ribs. Yet the woman, no, _girl_, didn't seem to mind; didn't seem to even notice the blood which stained her super suit, vivid crimson against sterile white. And even for the garishness of the contrast, he found himself grateful for the destruction of its cursed _blankness_, a lack of _everything_, which she wore like a shield.

An emotional absence which was disappearing before his very eyes. Like a rosebud in the wind or wishes in a well, her façade fell. There was no crash or noise but only blessed stillness as the dark haired girl hugged herself round her middle, like the spire running through was a teddy bear held loosely within her arms, rather than the method of her destruction.

And then her smile began to falter, and the spell shattered. Rushing to the defeated 'Sorceress' side, Buddy ignored the look of sorrow on Kari's face and the hardened impassivity on Dash's. Instead he had only eyes for the woman who was dying by his hand, her skin as translucent as glass and frail as china. Cradling her bone-thin form against his chest, Detective Pine ignored the pooling of blood which curled across his clothing like a lover's caress. Her eyes were growing dim and dull, and his were becoming fogged with tears as, sobbing, Buddy could only hold her.

A weak hand thumbed itself across his cheek before lightly tangling in his ponytail, were it rested permanently. And in the dead stillness the Sorceress--no, _Violet_, whispered gentle chastisement.

"Don't cry, Buddy. It's all better now. It's _all_ better…" a gentle tug lifted the edge of her lips, but it was too much effort and the older man could see the toll it was taking on her to even speak, her life pooling out around her like a halo.

His harsh whisper caught his companions' attention, but the retired hero paid them little mind, "how can it be okay when I know I'm going to lose you?"

A burble of laughter broke past her lips but it was immediately followed by an extensive cough, leaving her mouth blood spattered and cheeks tear-stained. Still Vi smiled that ghostly, girlish smile that was so different from the mocking laugh she'd used just hours before.

"You're not losing me, love. You're getting me back. Th' _real_ me," but even saying that took far too much of her soul and the eyes of the woman he'd always loved began to fail, seeing him no longer as synapses failed and died.

Buddy Pine's heart broke in two. But he still nodded, choked by tears and grief as acid poured from blue eyes gone cold, "yeah. You're back, Vi. But why'd you wait so long--you said it'd only be four years."

She managed a faltering hiss of laughter at that, "w'mn's perog-tive. Chang'd m' mind."

"Well, next time give me a head's up," it was all he could manage and, breathing shallowly, she nodded and closed her deep navy blue eyes. But not before making certain he knew one thing.

"Buddy?"

"Yeah?" his response was a guttural moan, and she sorrowed at the pain her life had caused him. But somehow her next amends would make up for it.

"I love you. Since…forever."

Heart pounding, Buddy ran a hand down her silken, unmasked cheek, "I love you to--."

But she was already gone. And burying his head into her midnight-blue, shorn locks, Buddy Pine outright cried.

~/~/~

It took several minutes for him to realize that the woman in his arms had become not just unmoving, but inanimate. It took several minutes more before the Detective realized that there was not just solemn quiet surrounding him, but frozen silence.

And then he heard them: the heavy footfalls of the hesitant.

"She has exactly a minute left," the words were as heavy as bricks and as serious as the grave. No breeze answered the voice, but was merely pushed aside as it commanded it be still. And, blinking, Buddy finally opened his eyes, never looking up.

He couldn't hope; couldn't dream even, but…maybe…

"What are you doing here, kid? You should be nonexistent already."

The silence had the grace to seem chagrined. But somehow answered his question anyway, "as long as there's time left, I, and my family, live. Which is what I'm trying to do--give us some more time."

_'Give us some more time.'_

The concept almost seemed profane to the skeptic. But he grasped at it like a diver scrambling for air. He whipped around to face the youth before he even realized that Violet was still hovering midair where he had left her, arms sliding away. Lost in time, like a veritable Snow White after having just tasted the apple.

Immediately his calloused hands were lifting the boy high above the ground by the lapels, shoelaces dangling with only just inches shy of the crumbling gravel. His target gripped Buddy's biceps in an effort not to choke but otherwise made no move to extract his self or change his position in the Private Eye's hands.

"What do you mean? She's gone--which means that you're supposed to be dead," a pause and a grunt, "caput. Exit stage left. _Not here to mock my grief_."

Electric blue eyes met fierce brown, "I'm a time traveler, _Granddad_. And I'm trying to save her so that this doesn't happen."

That earned himself an unceremonious drop, and then Buddy was staring down the snarky kid who had once been his competition and was now trying to become his ally. Older, taller, and perhaps a little more world-weary. But there was a look in the kid's eye that reminded him of himself, shining inspiration and Violet's sheer stubbornness. A look he dearly wished to see again.

_Granddad._ He'd suspected, but had never actually thought…

Then again, the spiky, widow's peaked hair was a frankly obvious sign in itself. Especially as it was the exact same one he'd had as a young hero-in-training.

"Alright Wilbur, talk."

Not pausing to brush the wrinkles from his shirt, the kid began drawing a diagram with a stick on the ground, between several slabs of broken rubble and shattered glass. In the background Dash and Kari stood still and silent, one hand raised in the case of the latter and a stern frown shadowing the former. But Buddy chose to ignore that statuary-like forms, eyes focused on the ground.

"I've gone back again and again, trying to prevent this fate, but it always turns out the same. I think I've finally found the turning point, though, and it happened when _you_ were young, not _her_."

"Me?" what was the kid talking about? Frowning furiously, Pine was quickly losing patience, but not enough to ask the traveler to shut up. Not if she only had a minute left and there was something he could do about it.

"Yep," and with a sudden epiphany Buddy realized his future grandson was intentionally avoiding his eyes. Like someone with guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, or a messenger that brought only bad news.

"What is it?"

"Ah, what is what?"

"You're not telling me something."

"Why would I ah-ha-ha…do something like that?" an uneasy chuckle rolled from slim shoulders, when abruptly Wilbur Robinson did an about-face. Clearing his throat sternly before facing Buddy like a man, but only for a second before he pointed down at the drawing he'd created, "okay, there _is_ a bit of a problem."

"You see, it goes like this. In this time line," and here he paused, circling a fairly accurate sketch of a young Buddy at the age of twelve, dressed in his "Incrediboy" costume. The Detective wondered if he'd seen pictures, "you become a sidekick three years after Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl get married, when he realizes the work load is just a bit much. Especially with Mrs. P working as both mom and Super-Lady. Violet is two years old at this point, and you're less reckless and more mature. For your age, anyway."

A 'get to your point, already,' look was tossed the youth's way, and he exhaled deeply before continuing.

"But there is a second time line that is possible."

"_What?_"

"Are you familiar with string theory?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Well," Wilbur drew in a deep sigh, dark hair bouncing ever-so slightly, "it was debunked. But the good thing is that something similar exists, which I call the 'Fork in the Road Theory.' Which my father tested as a young boy," seeing Buddy's rising impatience and the smoldering pain still simmering below the surface, the dark-haired boy spoke faster, "meaning that the future is in a constant state of flux. It can be changed or altered; it's not cemented down. People can make the same decisions again and again or can do entirely different things, but it doesn't change the fact that the future is still the future. Whether it's a different one or the same one. Like a chose your own adventure book, where no matter what you're still the main character, and no matter what the books still ends. But also the grandfather paradox can't really occur, either, since time moves on uncaringly without bumps either way you chose; time doesn't give a crap. It's still the future, whether it's a different future or not."

"In English. Please. Before I strangle my own grandson."

"You _can_ save her. But you have to sacrifice yourself. Including any relationship the two of you might have had with her as she grew up."

Pine's eyes finally fell on the other side of the diagram Wilbur had drawn, seeing an image of a slightly younger self looking angry. He said nothing, however, and so finally the Robinson boy swallowed hard and looked him dead on, "if you don't become the hero…you become the Villain. And then _you_ die, instead of her. The year she turns fourteen. She'll never turn evil, but then you'll never be good."

He had to die.

Essentially, he was being forced to chose between his own death and that of the woman he loved. Never to have any of the memories that had been created over the years; his entire life and the things he'd worked for ceasing to exist. But Violet would live. And that was what was important.

Something, however, didn't quite make sense, "Wait. But if I die, then what happens to--?"

"Don't worry about the family--I've got it handled. And, well, all I can say is that the family tree will still exist at that point, giving _everyone_ a second chance. And all of us on Mom's side will still have prominent widows' peaks and blue-black hair. Uncle Art will even have a huge chin."

The Time Traveler's eyes were deep and serious and, despite his light teasing, he spoke with the solemnity of an adult; a man showing respect to another man, completely honest and forthright. Within those dark brown eyes Buddy could see Wilbur telling him to put his trust in him; he'd been 'jumping' through time for years, and he definitely knew what he was doing.

Especially when it was his own family on the line.

All in all, there really was no question of which he would pick--Wilbur's existence proved the choice which had already been made. Because in a decision between himself and Violet he'd always pick her, hands down. If it had been anyone else it might have been a different matter, but it was Vi. And somehow it made a difference.

For in her there was the kid he'd watched grow up, whom he'd known since before she'd learned to speak. The girl he'd come to love, and the woman he'd lost to Xerex's machinations.

"You have to promise to remember everything in my place. Everything, you got that? Write it all down and publish it as fiction or something. _'The Man That Could Have Been Good.'_"

"I will. And one day I'll have her read it."

"Good," scrubbing one large, calloused hand down the freckled length of face and chin, Buddy sighed and turned determinedly away from the image of Vi, silent and already distant from him. Instead he followed the young man he was already proud to call his descendent to his vehicle, standing yards away.

"So. What do we have to do to change the future?"

"We have to teach a nine-year old how to make rocket-boots."

~/~/~

AN: Kapitan Lefty wanted one where she was evil. So here ya go--she's evil. Sorta.

The title was chosen in light of the concept of, "passing on." But passing can also indicate other things, such as the passing of the baton or the choice to move on to a new life, beyond what you or others have known. For a while this remained unnamed and I honestly had no idea what to call it, but it was born fully formed and I think I always knew that this was going to be the theme of the last chapter of Synchronous. As a farewell of sorts to ideas and concepts that make you honestly think about life, fate, irony, and "what if's."

It's my honest belief that agency is everything. That while our Heavenly Father does know what we will do, it is not so much a predestination of any kind so much as a knowledge of each of us intimately. Like reading a book that you love, which you've read many times before.

This is what I've tried to convey through Synchronous. That Buddy is the same regardless of circumstance or situation. That he is determined to prove himself, deeply passionate and driven. That he is willing to make sacrifices as a means to an end, even if those sacrifices involve himself. Or whether the end is good or evil.

Violet is much the same way. She is loving and caring, regardless of pasts and reputations, determined to succeed and prove herself, and intelligent and witty. She sees beyond the superpowers and into the heart of matters, recognizing the individual first before the abilities they possess. And as someone who desired for so long to just be 'normal,' she is the perfect person to help Syndrome grow.

Violet is the flip side to Syndrome; she is his match and his opposite. Just as orange and blue, their hair colors, are opposites on the color wheel, their forms are just as dissimilar. But it's that cord of understanding beneath that makes them who they are, and ties them with a silken thread.

Additionally: Synchronous Rotation is a term used for when an object always shows the same face to its orbiting object. The best example of this is the relationship between the Earth and our Moon. Because no matter the billions of years that pass, the moon stays determinedly by the Earth's side; moving together as one and always showing exactly the same view. And while the Earth definitely dominates the moon, the moon also has its effect on the Earth, pulling the tides and taking them where it will. Bringing the two of them, in a sense, closer together. They can't be separated. And Syndrome and Violet are also like that.

Oh, and don't worry. A happier epilogue will be coming, if you wish. Although I'm not sure it can really be counted as "happier." ~__^ And yes, I saved this little secret for the last.


	12. Epilogue: Till Death Do Us Part

**Synchronous: Epilogue**

**By Shahrezad1**

Summary: **The epilogue in a series of Synlet challenges for Synlet month. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. ~__^ And now for one last bit of humor from our favorite couple, with the help of a very unlikely cupid…**

Disclaimer: Syndrome (alias Buddy Pine) and Violet Parr belong to Brad Bird, the creators at Pixar, and the Disney/Pixar company itself. They also happen to own a few other characters, as well.

~/~/~

Epilogue: Till Death Do Us Part

"_O Gods who rule the dark and silent world,_

_To you all born of a woman needs must come._

_All lovely things at last go down to you._

_You are the debtor who is always paid._

_A little while we tarry up on earth._

_Then we are yours forever and forever._

_I seek one who came to you too soon._

_The bud was plucked before the flower bloomed."_

-Orpheus and Eurydice, Ovid/Virgil (Quoted by Edith Hamilton, "Mythology.")

~/~/~

Pain. It was the first sensation that woke him and the last that left. Day after day it began in the 'morning,' with the rise of a curiously dead sun, and ended with its sudden disappearance every night. And even then no stars shown upon his anguish as tendons and muscles snapped back together, as excruciating as the experiences which destroyed them in the first place.

He didn't know how long it had been likes this--days becoming weeks and weeks crawling into years. All he knew was of a series of shadowy figures condemning him to this wasteland, ghostly fingers pointing to the screech of mythological figures, accompanied with the fact that he was now very familiar with all his own methods of torture and destruction. And, through the scientific method of constant repetition, that electrocution was by no means as bad as drowning, even if the processes of his lollipop bomb were rather earth-shattering.

Omnidroids from the very first on down through the last all brought subsequent 'deaths,' although part of his consciousness remained aware and insistent through successive beatings that he_ was already dead._ Explaining why when the roulette wheel of penance-driven affliction landed on 'penalty by Jet Plane,' it always felt the most painful by far, and the most familiar.

Despite the pain, there was almost a kind of comfort blanket in the routine; he had no need to think about what would happen in the future, but there remained a kind of anxiety at the thought of change. Because when the very worst has passed from experience into memory, what else could come but something even more horrible?

That 'something' came on a day unmarked from any other, the sunset aflame with a blaze of poisonous gasses. It came accompanied by a single click; a snap of fingers which halted the glaring sun in the sky and healed him of his wounds in an instant. The emptiness was a rawness which grated on his already strung nerves, as was the silence. And then, without warning, he had company.

Sight didn't inform him of the new presence so much as the cold ache in his bones that grew unseen. The slow swell of icy sleep curled and spread like plague, inching its way to him on skeletal fingers as deadly quiet made way for the crunch of patent-leather shoes on gravel. A kind of hissing erupted with each step, smoke burning away rock like acid, yet it only curled around Buddy's wrists as he remained prone on hands and knees, gasping for breath.

A fitting position for him to be in when meeting his executioner.

"Are you _Pine, Bartholomew_?" a dry, droll voice commanded he answer, and despite his rising fear he nodded. The need for human contact--any human contact—overruling in an instant any and all instinct for self-preservation.

Instincts which said not to mess with his new visitor.

"Good," and then the previous snap became a full-out clap of power, and Buddy was no longer on the harsh ground.

Obsidian tiles created a mosaic of war beneath his bleeding hands, the deaths of heroes and tyrants alike portrayed in scenes of black on black within the lines of what seemed like waves of the sea. A border of lighter stones dotted the edge in the form of granite-white lilies, and as Pine dared to pull himself from bended knee a round, low table came into view, made entirely of polished marble, jagged edges protruding.

It gleamed malevolently in the ethereal glow of night-blooming flowers, an ominous sepulcher for miniature figures, its entire surface created to resemble a small-scale battlefield of towers, high-rise apartments, and straw huts.

But even that couldn't hold the deceased's attention for long. Not when he still remained a guest to fear.

"So," there was the sound of a match striking and the acrid smell of smoke, billowing round the room and scented strongly of brimstone. Then when the man's mouth was satisfactorily filled with cigar, he continued speaking around it, "Bartholomew Pine, aka Buddy. Temporarily known as Incrediboy, later to be changed to the alias of Syndrome. Entrepreneur, inventor, scientist, villain. And a pretty darn good one, as villains go."

There was a type of admiration in the lord's tone, and Syndrome didn't doubt for a second that he _was_ a lord, leaving him to wonder what exactly it meant. But before his overwhelmed senses could even try to figure it out, his host continued.

"You murdered half a dozen supers through subterfuge, invention and last-minute monologuing. Got away with it scott-free and still continued as a reputable businessman, selling medical equipment and flawed ammunitions to the government. But you couldn't let it go, could you--you had to get the last laugh; the prime catch, so to speak. And then you paid for it."

As this last phrase topped the pitiful summary that was his life, the ragged man couldn't help but look reflexively up. And then he wished he hadn't, as eyes like burning coals seared through what was left of his soul, and Buddy was finally given a vision of his host.

A figure sat--no, _lounged_--before him, skin a deathly transparent blue and hair a literal sputter of azure flame. His legs were crossed, the entire length of his form encased in a pinstriped suit the color of midnight and polished shoes blacker than the emptiness of space. A painfully white tie had been loosened ever-so-slightly at the neck, as though originally tied by someone else, with a skull-shaped stick-pin stabbing through its flowing silken cloth.

There was no scythe; no flowing black robes. Only a man with angular, almost exaggerated features, and long spindly hands, like spiders. And in those hands he held a very plain, normal-looking manila folder.

_Pine, B._ The title read.

A list of his life and accomplishments, all contained in a single, uncaring folder.

"In short, you created mass chaos and caused numerous deaths and then Karma kicked you in the rear, so to speak. That's not to say that I've never done anything similar, though," a dark chuckle, "you and I are more alike than you'd think. But that was definitely one slam bang of a finish, wouldn't you say? Blown up in the engine of one's own ostentatiously designed jet plane--a second for me, as a spectator. But probably a first for you, I'm guessing," a wry smile treated his ignominious death as though it was a minor little 'whoopsie,' in the history of the world, then licked his thumb in order to turn the pages of Syndrome's life. Pausing to shake his head and tsk lightly, "and to add insult to injury, judge and jury gave you a kind of sentence even I find a little harsh--and I'm Death incarnate!"

_Hades_. The world slithered across Buddy's skin like a snake in the garden of Eden, malevolent and cold. And he knew without a doubt that that was who he was facing, refined exterior aside. The being seemed almost amused by Syndrome's horrified realization of just _who he was_ and how pitiful his own existence was in comparison to the world, but let it slide in the wake of more pressing matters.

"Which brings me to the point of this little venture. You see, I have a bit of a dilemma that I thought perhaps you could help me with, ol' _Buddy, _ol' pal." The words were followed by what sounded like a soft snap, and like the flip of a switch the title echoed in his brain.

_Buddy. Buddy. Buddy._

The part of himself that he thought had died seemed to wake up with the phrase, blinked, and shook itself. Like the slow awakening of a cat, claws indolently stretched. It was an odd feeling, to have a part of yourself fit itself into place after being long-gone. Like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fall into position, or an old retainer made for a much smaller mouth. Still, it settled slowly down on him, pulling his spine straight and focusing his eyes. Unnoticed, the misty clothing he wore mended itself before Hades' gaze, bruises disappearing and hair returning to its 'proper' form, if somewhat shorter.

Then the synapsis connected.

No,_ not_ Buddy; _Syndrome_. So why was he groveling? And what was it that he had feared so much just minutes before? Certainly not death; death had been and always would be his companion and his aid. If anything, death only had made him stronger. And those years of penance were like paper in the wind, sloughing off of Syndrome like old skin while, unnoticed, the god of Death smiled a very devilish smile. Effortlessly hiding the little burst of power he'd quietly created, hand concealed as it was by the folder in his lap.

_How could he do such a thing, returning such an evil man to his original state?_ A conscience would have demanded, if he actually had one. And the answer would have been the typical, _because he could_.

After all, the man was worthless to him the way he was now. He would be of far more…helpful if he had some of his old spark back. Not all of it, mind you--the Villain would be better off retaining his experience of the underworld, so that he recognized Hades' ultimate power over him if nothing else. But a spineless pawn wasn't an option.

Not for what Hades was intending.

"Dilemma?" the red haired man not-quite asked as the power rushing through him forced him into standing position, using the edge of the low table as prop as he attempted to regain his balance. Then, rolling his shoulders back, Syndrome took stock of his injuries. His nose felt like it had been broken several times and had healed badly, he'd lost a lot of weight (if a ghost could do such a thing) and had regained it in the form of muscle and bony rib. Additionally, the span of his back was a twisted mess of knots, brought on by 'stress,' no doubt, and he also seemed to have a permanent limp, all healing abilities aside. But that, at least, was somewhat to be expected.

"Yes. Dilemma. You see, I have this _associate_ of mine that is trapped topside a good length of the year. While I, unfortunately, am currently trapped by my duties_ down_ _here_. Which is where you come in. You see, I could really use your aid in my latest endeavor."

"Which would be?" the ghost of a man still seemed to be distracted by his sudden reconstruction, and Hades couldn't help but hope he would remain that way for the next several minutes as he officially dropped the bomb.

"I need you to be me."

But unfortunately the villain was smarter than Death had given him credit for, as _that_ got his attention.

"…_what?_"

"Okay, maybe not _be_ me exactly. More like, ya know, a temp fill-in. For just a little vacation topside, that's all. I mean, you've always helped _me_ out, offing those heroes and all, plus you've got the right mind for the job," then, deadpan, "And the hair. And, as luck would have it, you're _dead_. What else've you got to occupy your time with, _Big Boy?_ It's not too much to ask for this itsy, bitsy favor, right?"

Silence was the man's only answer, hands carefully examining the length of his remote-controllers, massaging a pained tendon absently. And somehow the solemn reflection of thought was unexpected to Hades, who had watched him on and off throughout the villain's entire life. The thoughtful stillness seemed almost…out of character, and for less than a millisecond the god wondered what he was thinking about.

"Sounds interesting. But what's in it for me?"

"I dunno, I could, ya know, _not_ send you back to Tartarus for some of the stunts you pulled. A type of torture I'm sure you've been enjoying for the past few years. Or maybe I could even cut back on your sentence entirely, how would you like that? Or maybe, just maybe, I could give you the chance to see what it would've been like if you _hadn't_ chosen your rather _extreme_ lifestyle."

A very wry, "I'd rather die again, thanks."

Which somehow simultaneously impressed and irritated Death, much like a certain demigod a few millennia ago, "That can be rather easily brought into being, so you might wanna be careful what you wish for, Buddy. But, well, you drive a hard bargain. How about…your 'maybe' true love."

The dead's expression more than conveyed how he felt about that, and immediately Hades wheeled back around verbally, spindly hands thrown into the air in a shrug as the folder remained in his lap, "…or the rather overused, but tried and true…_revenge. _And possibly a chance at living again, if you're lucky."

Now _that_ sparked Syndrome's interest, and without meaning to the mortal's eyes lit up momentarily. Hades rolled his own glowing blue coals, but not in a literal sense.

"Revenge? From beyond the grave?"

"And 'Veil' and 'Death's Doorway,' and everything post-mortalish. As Death you'd have the power to take one more Super down into death, just like old times," the carrot was being dangled in front of his nose, and even though Pine knew it was a plot to trick him he couldn't help his curiosity. Even without the threat of Tartarus--he knew his mythology--it would've sparked his interested anyway.

But then again, there was something Hades wasn't saying still…

"And what about you? What would you be getting out of this 'Lucrative' deal?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Nothing at all, just a little visit with the ol' wifey out of season. You understand the evil of mother-in-laws, I'm guessing? I mean we get, what, four months together. Spare a poor god some slack, here."

Sarcastic humor made a rebound back from the dead as the words, 'topside,' 'wifey,' and 'mother-in-law,' rolled around in his semi-transparent skull. Immediately after Syndrome resisted the urge to groan.

It seemed as though he was stuck playing out a repeated of a mythological dating game. With him as the decoy while his host skipped town for a little romantic adventuring.

Just when he thought the afterlife couldn't get any worse.

But the irony of the situation, while a little irksome, actually reassured Pine a little. He now at least knew Hades' motives, and that would make it easier for him to plan his own moves. Namely that of getting out of here. He might even be able to find a few loopholes in their deal, if he was careful. And if not, well…

…he _was_ dead. And even being stuck as death's representative for all time was an improvement on his previous fate. Really, what was the worst that could happen to him?

~/~/~

_'How about love?'_ Hades thought quietly to himself, silent chuckle stifled and gagged under a cool business-like façade. Underworld knew it'd caused him more than enough problems already.

Speaking of which…

"Thank you," supple arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders as instantly the suffocating suit Hades wore became his usual mist-bound robes. She didn't seem to mind the change, though, as she pulled herself close enough to place her lips on the corner of his mouth. Her glowing pink skin was in complete contrast against his otherworldly pallor, the latter as blue as the river Styx was deep. And, allowing her forehead to brush against his, the goddess giggled lightly as his flickering hair took its turn tickling and tangling through her golden curls, like naiads through water. It really had a mind of its own sometimes.

"N-no problem, sugar," he responded, forced to clear his throat as her presence immediately affected him. And didn't it always? Even after who knew how many thousands of years, cupid's arrow still seemed to reverberate in his chest whenever his wife was near. Sending a strange mix of sunny warmth and sensitive shivers straight to the empty chest cavity where his heart was supposed to be; a foreign feeling if there ever was one.

He never thought he'd completely get used to it, but that wouldn't stop him from doing whatever she wanted him to do.

Even if it involved setting up a known villain with his nemesis' daughter, all for a bet between Percy and her cousin Aphrodite.

A known _dead_ villain with his nemesis' _temporarily indisposed_ daughter. He wasn't sure how that was supposed to work exactly, but Persephone had reassured him on the matter, promising that she had the situation well in hand. And, well, who was he to mess with a good plan, even if he was only an accessory and not a player? If it brought mischief and entertainment, who was he to really complain?

Especially if it meant spending time with his lovely wife, she reminded him with another kiss.

~/~/~

_Weeks later…_

Violet didn't know how she had gotten where she was. All she remembered was dimly looking up into her partner's face, a girl half her age, after being hit. She didn't even know where the attack had come from--it didn't seem to fit the MO of the Villain they'd been fighting. But then wasn't that always the case? Heroes were straightforward, but Villains always seemed to have an ace up their sleeve. And then, her lashes brushing her cheeks in a slow blink, Violet had felt her eyelids grow heavy in exhaustion. Just catching sight of the tears dripping down Mellony's face before sleep overcame her.

And then, what seemed to be both a moment and an eternity later, the heat of day was replaced with the serene cool of night. In the span of seconds her Supersuit had been exchanged for a silken dress, lines long and elegantly simple, with feet bare on the polished obsidian stones on the ground beneath. A breath of night whispered through Vi's now-unbound hair, ruffling her skirts in the process so that they brushed up against her legs. And the glow of lichen brought a feel of serenity to the altogether frightening change in location, a dark cavern surrounding the heroine's form.

But she found herself unworried and uncaring. A state which normally would have worried her, but at this moment she didn't seem to mind all that much. And where her musings were thoughtless, untamed, and swept to and fro like waves on the sea, her feet were driven and lead her carefully down a rocky path and to the edge of an underground lake. Where a gondola waited patiently, its worn sides rocking ever so slightly with the drift and pull of the tide.

Its captain held no resemblance to any known man, except that of death's reaper himself. But he bore the weight of his responsibility with the fortitude of one accustomed to the job, and as listless blue eyes spanned over his skeletal frame all she could feel was a distant form of pity. Until he stood before her, motioning, and suddenly anxiety was her foremost emotion.

What did he want? What could those bony fingers be gesturing for?

Unconsciously she buried her hands deep within the folds of her tunic-dress. Surprise, however, blinked away some of her stupor as the cold feel of metal tickled her own icy fingertips, ridged edges catching on the lip of her fingernail. Withdrawing the objects within the palm of her hand, Violet stared as she found two bus tokens.

It was all that was left of the world she'd been in before.

Wordlessly the skeleton withdrew the two copper coins from her hand, digits whispering across her skin like November in a cemetery, then beckoned her on. And without a sound in response, she stepped in.

The ride was long and quiet, and through a stupor of thought Vi watched the eddies and streams rush by. At first they seemed like mere wisps of current, until her eyes fell on a hand floating by. Tangles of hair swirled around the figure it was connected to, lids closed as if in sorrowing sleep. And as though looking at an Eye-Spy book for the first time, she was suddenly able to see another figure and another. Brows furrowing in her living sleep, she wondered for a moment where exactly she was. And then, as the slim young woman drew her thin robe around her, her mind supplied an answer from middle school's history classes.

They were the Unburied. Those who hadn't had any funeral rights, and were not lost in the tides of time, to wander forever. She shivered, although somehow she wasn't cold or warm, and turned to look straight ahead through the empty rib cage of her driver, one she somehow knew was named Charon. He, either uncaring or not noticing, continued onward. Plunging his staff into the crowded water's depths without a care for _who_ he stabbed through.

Or perhaps they didn't even sense the boat's passing?

The thought was set aside for another day as they floated through a set of ominous gates, serrated edges withdrawing to form unclenching jaws. Directly afterwards they passed a beast, it's back to them. But Violet noted that while it only had one tail, a snake's head on the end, lightly dozing, there were three necks upon those brawny shoulders and scratches all along the black-stone walls, as though claws were continually scrabbling for purchase.

Downward they continued , ever downward, until upon the proverbial horizon an edifice arose, glaring eyes staring down in judgment at the state of her soul from a skeleton shape. And Violet Parr knew, without a doubt, that this must be her destination. Allowing the river to pull their vehicle the rest of the way, the being which was her guide waited respectfully for her to climb out before bowing once and rowing away. And then she was on her own, a single young woman stand at the base of an endless flight of stairs, a series of fiery blue lamps the only things present to light her way.

Then, again with a mind of their own, her feet began to climb the edifice. And the heroine wondered distantly if she should be worried.

The next few minutes passed as though in a dream as she walked to her destruction (for that's what she knew it must be, despite her lethargic response to the matter), all the way upward into what she knew must be a throne room, the area large, round, and spacious. Pillars bore the weight of the "skull" building's roof, and like beetles they eyed her darkly with twitching darkness. The eyeholes were placed evenly within the space, parallel to a table filled with figures, and between the two open "eye" windows, there was a throne.

Upon-which sat the man of her nightmares.

Violet stared, mist lifted with the coming of an emotional storm.

Syndrome sat upon the seat of obsidian in a navy suit and matching blue cravat, sipping what looked like tea and meeting his nemesis' daughter's gaze. He'd aged well, was the immediate thought, and she nearly shot her own foot off as the idea tumbled into being, his physical age seemingly close to her own twenty-four. The man had thinned out, growing into the breadth of his shoulders while still retaining some stocky muscle.

The bombastic bonfire of hair was much tamer, a wave and flicker of flames slicked slightly back, his sideburns only slightly deeper. And for a moment she thought she saw them _literally_ burn, flaring with a brief burst of heat, but she blinked and the effect disappeared, leaving her wondering if her eyes had been tricking her all along.

What scars he might have had were none existent, like the faint outlines of a coloring book.

The biggest change, however, came from the man himself. The expression that spanned his lantern jaw being calm and cool, if a little arch; mature instead of self-righteous. Blue eyes that had once been electric in their fervor were now lazy as a summer sky; apathetic as he took in her presence and analyzed it in a blink.

And found her lacking.

Then the man started speaking, but she found herself ignoring most of it in the first surge of strong emotion since her original shock. Namely, that of fascination. It was even strong enough to break through the fog of thought that had been pressing down upon her like a fire blanket.

"Welcome to the Underwold. While you're here I will be your host, of a sort. As you may have, or may _not_ have noticed, _you are now dead_. As such, your essence immediately became the possession of Hades, ie Lord of the Dead, under the Zeus act of pre-time, as of passing through the Erebus gate," the words he spoke were wry and almost flat at times, as though reading a script he'd long-since grown bored of. And at one point, in fact, the Villain even paused to examine his fingernails. As though her existence meant less to him than the state of his own hygiene.

"So please make your way through the Tartarus gate--the one with the numbers on it--and on to the judgment hall. Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus will be there to meet you and will help you settle in to either the Elysian Fields on the right, or on the left the land ruled by Rhad, Tartarus itself. Mind the rivers Phlegethon, Styx and Lethe, as they are not fit for swimming or drin--."

"…_Syndrome?"_

He stopped speaking. And in the gap an earthquake seemed to sound within the cavernous hall. Dull blue eyes grew sharp and instantly he took stock of her form again, judging and comparing it against some sort of mental list and still not finding her on it. But she could see the thoughts spanning his wide mind, and the lack of answer her presence brought instead resulted in a sharp question.

"_How_ do you know me? Who _are_ you?"

Straightening, the ghostly length of her long robe brightened with a light no darkness could dim; a kind of ethereal glow, like moonflowers and effervescent stars in a midnight sky. And unseen her long hair began floating and curling in waves about her shoulders, diving dolphins flowing in and out of the sapphire strands.

"I'm Violet Parr," and when that name brought no recognition, she said again, "the daughter of _Mr. Incredible_. You are Buddy Pine, the villain _Syndrome_. And you're supposed to be dead--I _saw_ you die."

She made the declaration as it really was--just a declaration. But it still managed to sound accusatory, as though it was his fault that her nightmares were becoming real. But his fierce look took no offense as it slowly shifted into something else. A very wicked something else.

"Oh, I am _very much_ dead, my dear…" he stated with no remorse, finally smiling as he drew himself from his chair. And with a start Violet realized that the height difference between the two of them really wasn't so different anymore; not with the growth spurt from senior year affecting the dynamic between them. But it brought her all the more close to his darkening features, something akin to a cat eating the canary infusing him from head to pointed toe.

"…and like I mentioned earlier, so are you. And now you're in _my_ domain," he straightened to his full breadth and Violet found her heart picking up speed, out of fear or something else she didn't know. And then he smiled a shark's smile and she knew it was fear, of a sort.

The fear of the unexpected.

"Welcome to the Underworld."

~/~/~

**AN:** I'm really evil. But, well, I guess this is still an improvement over the angst of the previous chapter. ~__^ And there is waaaaay too much description in this for it to be a real epilogue. _

Anyway…

The following information has been collected from a mix of Wikipedia, Edith Hamilton's book, "Mythology," (which I own), and personal research. As a note, I did play around with the order of the gates and things, as Tartarus and Erebus typically mean the same place, but the former is referred to as the prison of the Sons Of Earth and the latter usually just means the entryway to the spirit world (which is included in the "Hercules," move in the form of a skull gate). And since Rhadamanthus's domain remains unnamed, I used Tartarus as its title as well.

If anyone wants to know what the (made-up) bet was between Persephone and Aphrodite, it was that Persephone could make hate turn into love without the goddess of love's help. And it was a bet brought up through Percy's desire for Aphro. to get her comeuppance after the stunt she pulled with Psyche. Namely, setting her up for failure, demoralizing Psyche due to Psyche's beauty, and finally forcing her to brave the underworld in order to collect some of Persephone's beauty for Aphrodite, in atonement for the crime she committed in seeing her husband's face (Cupid/Eros), which scarred him temporarily. A crime which Aphrodite tricked her into.

So in my world, Percy would be understandably ticked off (being the down-to-earth person that she is. Pun intended). Plus, Persephone is probably a big fan of the redemption of bad guys (having married one of them), and is most likely familiar with the chapter before this, in which in an alternative world they would have fallen in love. So she's just a romantic softie at heart, despite owning up to the title of, "Iron Queen," etcetera.

Also, the version of Persephone included here is the Disney version, which appears at least three times in the movie, "Hercules," but only as part of the crowd. She's always at Demeter's side (heavyset woman, red hair, green skin, and a green outfit), and she's dressed in white with pink skin, is tall and thin, and has blonde hair with a big pink flower headdress. I changed her outfit. Also, I created a few small remodeling changes to Hades' place, since probably Persephone helped update the throne room in order to make it a little classier and less like a vampire's bachelor pad.

**GREEK:**

**The 1911 ****Encyclopaedia Britannica**** account of the myth:**

"As she was gathering flowers with her playmates in a meadow, the earth opened and Hades, god of the dead, appeared and carried her off to be his queen in the world below. ... Torch in hand, her sorrowing mother sought her through the wide world, and finding her not, she forbade the earth to put forth its increase. So all that year not a blade of corn grew on the earth, and men would have died of hunger if Zeus had not persuaded Hades to let Persephone go. However, before he let her go **Hades persuaded her** eat three seeds of a pomegranate, and thus she could not stay away from him forever. So it was arranged that she should spend two-thirds (according to later authors, one-half) of every year with her mother and the heavenly gods, and should pass the rest of the year with Hades beneath the earth.... **As wife of Hades, she sent ****spectres****, ruled the ghosts, and carried into effect the ****curses of men****.**""

"This myth also can be interpreted as an allegory of ancient Greek marriage rituals. The Classical Greeks felt that marriage **was a sort of abduction of the bride by the groom from the bride's family**, and this myth may have explained the **origins of the marriage ritual**. The more popular etiological explanation of the seasons may have been a later interpretation." (Referring to carrying the bride over the threshold.)

"Of the four deities of Empedocles's elements, it is the name of Persephone alone that is taboo…for she was also the terrible [Queen of the Dead], whose name was not safe to speak aloud, who was euphemistically named simply as** "Kore" or "the Maiden",** a vestige of her archaic role as the deity ruling the underworld…"

**ROMAN:**

"The Romans first heard of her (Persephone) from the Aeolian and Dorian cities of Magna Graecia, who used the dialectal variant Proser**pine**."

"Venus, **in order to bring love to ****Pluto**, sent her son Amor also known as Cupid to hit Pluto with one of his arrows. Proserpina was in Sicily…when Pluto came out from the volcano Etna with four black horses…He abducted her in order to marry her and live with her in Hades, the Greco-Roman Underworld, of which he was the ruler."

"In another version of the story, some people believe that upon her abduction, **Proserpina ate only four pomegranate seeds, and she did so of her own accord**. When Jupiter ordered her return, **Pluto struck a deal with Jupiter**, saying that since she had stolen his pomegranate seeds, she must stay with him four months of the year in return. For this reason, in spring when Ceres received her daughter back, the crops blossomed, and in summer they flourished. In the autumn Ceres changed the leaves to shades of brown and orange (her favorite colors) as a gift to Proserpina before she had to return to the underworld. During the time that Proserpina resided with Pluto, the world went through winter, a time when the earth was barren."


End file.
